


The Profound Bond

by im_an_idjit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, based off that one video on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_an_idjit/pseuds/im_an_idjit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the FBI teams up with Angels in the Human-Angel Cooperation Initiative, Dean finds himself developing more than unsuitable thoughts about his new celestial partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bobby Singer sat at his oak desk, filing away old reports and writing up new ones. He was already on his fourth mug of coffee and battling an irritating headache as well as a cramped hand. No one said that being the Director of the FBI's Supernatural Occurrences branch was going to be easy, but he still sometimes cursed himself for being an idjit and taking up the position some fifteen years back.

Just as he set down the report on the nuclear stunt one Demon attempted to pull off last week (they covered it up as a major gas leak), Agent Turner stepped into the Director's office.

"Rufus, tell me it's good news," Bobby greeted with a groan. "What'cha got for me?"

Rufus Turner was Head of Department for the branch's Hunting Division and consequently Bobby's right-hand man. A great field agent back in his day as well as Director Singer's partner, Rufus was offered the position of Head once Bobby became director.

Rufus grimaced slightly before answering, "Got a little bit of both. Really depends how you look at it. Everything's set for Operation Jerusalem. We're expecting them a little before noon."

Bobby let out a relieved sigh. At least that was going according to plan. "Wait, but what's bad news then?"

"I got word from the Training and Human Resources Division. The newest batch of rookies is done with training. Out of the forty we recruited, twenty five passed," Rufus replied.

"Jeez, what is it with the new generations?" Bobby muttered, more to himself than to Rufus. "What about the field agents?"

"I paged every single one of them. All responded and are either back or on their way. I got no answer from the Winchesters, though," Rufus replied.

Great. The single-most important event in the history of the branch was going down in two hours, and Bobby's best agents were AWOL. He sighed. "OK. Thanks, Rufus. Go check on Frank, will 'ya? He's probably having a fit right now. And try to get a hold of the Winchesters again."

Rufus chuckled and replied, "Yes, sir."

When the door softly clicked behind Rufus, Bobby leaned back into his seat, his head buried into the rest behind it.

Where were those two idjits?


	2. Chapter 2

Most people hate Mondays and Dean Winchester, for one, fully agreed. He's never had a pleasant Monday in his life. But while Mondays for most people meant waking up early to go to school or work, for Dean it meant he was going to be thrown around like a ragdoll by another God-forsaken monster.

His ears were ringing, his head spinning and his shoulder aching. Dean glanced up from his spot on the ground and looked over at his brother.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered when he saw Sam shoved against the wall, thrashing around and gasping for air.

Dean wasted no time. He picked up his machete from the ground and approached his brother's flailing figure. He raised his weapon over his shoulder and with one swift slice, the vampire's head lopped off before it could sink it's fangs into Sam's throat. The machete clattered against the ground as Sam slid down the wall with a groan.

Dean inhaled deeply in attempt to regain his breath. "How many times do I have to save your ass, bitch?" he snapped at his brother.

"It was one time, jerk," Sam retorted.

Dean picked up his machete and stored it away into it's sheath. He extended an arm out to Sam, who took it gratefully and heaved himself to his feet. Both men groaned and Dean reached up to massage his shoulder. He winced at the touch. It was definitely dislocated.

As if Sam immediately knew (and he probably did), he gestured to his brother to turn around. "On three, OK?" he told Dean.

The shoulder popped back into it's socket before Sam reached two.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean rasped again. He glared at his brother.

From his many years on the job, he could tell that Sam's nose was badly bruised, if not completely broken. Dark blood stuck to his mouth and chin, already starting to dry.

"Come on," he said with a slap on his brother's arm. "Let's get cleaned up."

They were checked out of the motel and in front of the Impala in less than an hour. Dean leaned against the door, finishing up his pie as Sam talked to Bobby over the phone.

"No, there were no casualties," Sam said. "Yeah, head chopped off and body burned."

Dean tossed his plate and fork into the trash and turned around, looking at Sam expectantly. Sam raised his finger and said into the phone, "OK, got it. See you, Bobby."

When Sam pocketed his phone, the two clambered into the Impala and Dean switched on the engine.

"What does Bobby say?" Dean wanted to know as he rolled onto the highway and turned up the radio to an ear-splitting volume.

Sam turned it back down in response and, ignoring Dean's indignant cries in protest, answered, "Just the usual. Wants to make sure we're still alive and capable to fill out paperwork when we get back."

Dean grumbled in response.

"He also said to step on it. Says it's important that we get back as soon as we can," Sam added.

"Why, so he can give us another case?" Dean asked. "No way, man. I need a vacation. That bitch was a pain to track down."

"Don't have to tell me," Sam muttered, his eyes slipping shut. "Wake me up when we get there," he said with a sigh before dozing off.

The Impala pulled up in the underground parking lot the next hour, which had to be a record for the Winchester brothers. Dean shook Sam awake and the two stepped out of the car, making their way towards the elevator.

"So, Bobby tell you what this is about?" Dean asked his brother as he pressed a button.

"Nope, just said to get here as soon as we can," Sam replied.

The elevator dinged, signaling their arrival. Upon exiting into the main chamber, Sam and Dean were surprised to find the entire place in an uproar. Rookies animatedly chattering to each other, field agents standing warily about and Rufus anxiously giving out orders left and right. Dean caught sight of one of the rookies and gestured for her to come closer.

Joanna Harvelle pushed through the crowd and smiled widely at the brothers. She was one of their closest friends, seeing as their fathers served the same branch of the FBI as the three of them did now. Shortly after John Winchester returned from the marines, Bobby found him a job in the bureau because of their long-time friendship. He was partnered with Jo's father, William Harvelle, with whom he worked until the latter's death. After that, John himself pulled out and settled down in the countryside with Mary, his wife. Dean was nineteen years old when John retired and Sam fifteen. The family stayed in close contact with Jo's mother Ellen, who lived just a few miles away from them. As a result, the Winchester boys spent many of their summers with Jo.

"Jo, what the hell is going on?" Sam asked, gesturing at the chaos around them.

"No idea," Jo answered. "But, hey! Guess who passed her field exam!"

"That's fantastic, Jo," Dean chuckled as Sam pulled her in for a hug.

"Yeah, Mom's gonna freak. She's been hoping I would fail so I could come home," Jo said with a giggle.

"And where have you two idjits been?!" the director's voice thundered.

All three turned around to see Bobby Singer pacing furiously towards them.

"Sorry, Bobby. We got here as soon as we could-" Sam tried as Jo slowly slunk away into the crowd.

"Well 'soon as we could' ain't good enough, boy," Bobby retorted.

"Bobby, what's going on here?" Dean wanted to know.

"Oh, nothing important." Dean could feel the sarcasm coming on and groaned inwardly. "Just the most important day in your careers, that's all."

Before either Sam or Dean could open their mouths, Frank Deveraux's voice echoed through the room. "Singer, you better get ready," he said over the intercom. "They're on their way. Messing up all my equipment with their frequency too."

Bobby nodded slightly and without another word, spun on his heel and disappeared.

Dean looked at Sam in exasperation. "What the hell, man?"

Sam sighed in response and shrugged his massive shoulders. Suddenly, the lights began flickering wildly. The chatter in the room died out, everyone's attention on the exploding bulbs overhead. Every source of light was extinguished and a flurry of what Dean recognized as feathers rang in his ears. All of a sudden, there were thirty new figures standing in the centre of the room. For a minute, no one spoke.

And then, one tall, lean man stepped out from the newly-manifested crowd. He raised his gaze to the ruined light bulbs and clicked his tongue in annoyance. With a snap of his fingers, the lights were fixed and they flared to life.

With the lights back on, it was much easier for Dean to make out the intruders. Each wore a white dress shirt beneath an ebony suit. Stone-faced, stiff poise and eyes flashing from one end of the room to the other. It wasn't hard for Dean to piece two and two together. They were Angels.

The first thing an agent-in-training learns, besides the fact that they are not the only species out there, is that they are also not the only ones hunting down monsters. Actual Angels of the Lord had their own unit called the Heavenly Host. They did the same job; hunting down monsters which eat people and getting rid of them, except that they didn't bother with formalities. They'd simply zap in, smite the bastard causing trouble and zap out. No interrogating the suspect, no spending hours and hours on research. Probably no paperwork either.

The Angels were very secretive. They never worked with Bobby's bunch and never showed themselves. Dean had never seen an actual Angel before, let alone worked with one in person. On rare occasions however, Sam and Dean would cross paths with an Angel on one of their cases. They'd arrive at the monster's hideout, only to find a dead corpse in the centre and frequency bouncing off the walls.

The dark-haired Angel who had fixed the lights approached Bobby. They greeted each other quietly and exchanged a few words before Bobby nodded to the two liaisons, Chuck Shurley and Kevin Tran, beside him.

Chuck spoke first. "On behalf of all of our agents, I'd like to thank the Heavenly Host for agreeing to meet with us."

It was Kevin's turn to translate into Enochian. After he finished, Chuck continued.

"For the first time ever in our shared history, Angels and humans will work together to protect the civilians from the species that threaten their safety. We call it the Human-Angel Cooperation Initiative."

Then Kevin spoke again.

"Each of you will be assigned a new partner and will receive a case from either Rufus Turner-" He gestured at the Head's direction. "-or the Archangel Raphael." Again, he did the same for the dark-skinned man at the centre. "If there is any trouble, please speak to them and they will carry the message either to the Archangel Michael or Director Singer." Chuck nodded towards Bobby and the Angel next to him.

When Kevin finished his translation, Bobby glanced at Michael and shrugged, "We take questions now?"

Michael smirked slightly and nodded. A split second later, the entire room exploded.

"Director Singer, this is the worst idea I've ever heard of!" Agent Gordon Walker chipped in.

"Why would you even suggest this?" another agent called.

Apparently, the Angels were very unhappy with this arrangement too. Protests in Enochian and in English rang so loud it made Dean's ears hurt.

"Enough!" Michael demanded. He glared at every Angel and human in the room. "No one is allowed to protest against this. Director Singer and I have come to a conclusion that this is necessary. There aren't enough Angels left in Heaven-" He specifically told his siblings. "And the humans can benefit from our knowledge."

He seemed happy when no one argued with him.

"So," Bobby concluded. "Shall we move on to the partners?"

Kevin flicked through the papers on his clipboard and finally settled on one. "Garth Fitzgerald, Samandriel," he read out. "Gordon Walker, Uriel. Joanna Harvelle, Anna."

He called out several more names, but Dean halfheartedly payed attention. He looked over at his brother and whispered, "What do you think about all of this?"

"Well, Bobby seems to think this is a good idea, so I'm willing to go with it," Sam replied. "Besides, working with Angels? I think it'll be interesting. I mean, how much do we know about Angels?"

"Almost next to nothing," Dean answered.

Sam pulled a bitchface. "What I meant was, it'll be good to find out more about them."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

And that's when he heard it. "Dean Winchester, Castiel. Sam Winchester, Gabriel."

The brothers exchanged another look as Kevin set down his papers. "That'll be all, then," he said to Bobby.

"All right, then." Bobby clasped his hands together. "Everyone report to Agent Turner now. Sam, Dean, come with me."

The Winchesters meandered around in the opposite direction of the moving crowd. They finally found Bobby by the elevator.

"Bobby, what the hell is this?" Dean asked. "Working with Angels? Seriously?"

"Shut it, 'ya idjit," Bobby replied gruffly, although Dean knew he meant it fondly. "You two are gettin' a case from me. Now come on before Rufus finds me and strangles me for leaving him with all these Angels."


	3. Chapter 3

"I don't know, Bobby. New partners?" Dean nagged as the three of them made their way down the hall. "Sam and I've been partners from the get-go. We work best together."

"Exactly. This'll be good for you two. Some time off from each other," Bobby replied.

"Fine. But I'm keeping Baby," Dean said, more to Sam than to anyone else.

Sam gave him a mock-reassuring nod and Bobby turned to face the two agents. "All right, here we are," he told them. "Dean, you're going with me. Sam, you just go in here. You'll get your case from Michael."

"Michael? As in the Archangel?" Sam questioned.

Dean slapped a hand on his brother's broad shoulder. "Good luck, Sammy."

"Michael's all right. Just don't insult him or piss him off, otherwise he'll smite you," Bobby advised. "But that's a rule with Angels in general."

Dean and Bobby left Sam in front of one of the brass-knobbed doors and continued down to Bobby's office. Dean was the first to reach the door. Pulling it open, he gestured for Bobby to go inside. The Director shuffled through with Dean hot at his heels.

"Agent Winchester, meet Castiel," Bobby told him.

Blue. That was Dean's first impression. The Angel had the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Dean wasn't one of those sappy people who first notice people's eyes when they meet them, but with Castiel, it was hard do to little else. The closest he could describe it as was the sea, but Dean was certain that no ocean could possibly measure up to the blueness of those eyes. No ocean that he's seen, anyway. Castiel sported a blue tie ("It matches his eyes," Dean thought absently) and a tan trenchcoat. None of the other Angels wore either garments. Just a white dress shirt, a black suit jacket and trousers.

He blinked twice, mesmerized with the Angel's baby blues, before saying, "Uh, right. Hi."

Castiel blinked back. "Hello," he replied calmly.

Bobby glanced from Castiel to Dean, and then back to the Angel as the two held what seemed a staring competition. "Anyway," he cut in abruptly. "You two interested in hearing what the case is or not?"

Dean felt his ears turn hot. Clearing his throat, he broke eye contact with Castiel. "Sorry, Bobby."

Bobby snorted, adopting a smirk that spelt 'idjit'. He opened the file in his hands, picked up the photographs inside and spread them out across his desk. "Ten victims," he said, gesturing at the photos. "Each almost two days apart. All slashed, chopped and disfigured so bad their own mothers wouldn't recognize them."

Dean picked up one exceptionally gruesome picture. "Wow," he stated, grimacing at the mauled face. "This could be anything. Werewolf, Wendigo, particularly pissed off ghost. You got something to go on, Bobby?"

"So far, jack with a side of squat," the Director stated. "All we know is that these poor bastards were found like that in their apartments. No signs of forced entry through the front door, but each apartment had a set of scratches cut into the floor. Looks like claws."

"We'll have to find out more ourselves then." The Winchester spared a glance at his new Angelic partner, who hadn't spoken a word. "Any ideas, feathers?" Dean asked.

Castiel looked unhappy with the nickname, but answered all the same. "Six for now. But I have to see the bodies first."

"Then you better go down to the AA's Division," Bobby told him.

"I don't understand." Castiel's brow furrowed. "You have a division for counceling on alcoholism?"

"No, he means our Autopsy and Analysis Division," Dean cut in.

Castiel nodded, but still looked a little apprehensive.

When no one offered anything else, Bobby broke the silence. "What are you waiting around here for? Get goin', ya idjits."

Sam watched as Bobby and Dean disappeared down the hall. He lingered in front of the door, assessing the situation. Just behind that door was an Angel. And not just any Angel, an Archangel. Sam hated to admit it, but he was pretty intimidated, especially by Michael's take-no-shit attitude. He exhaled, fixed his hair slightly and gingerly pressed down on the door knob.

Upon his entrance, two men turned on their heel to gaze at Sam's general direction. Both wore ebony suits. One Sam recognized as Michael. He was the taller of the two, with cropped black hair and pale-coloured, keen eyes. You could easily tell from his posture that he was trained in combat.

The Angel beside him was his opposite. Short, stocky and rocking on the balls of his feet, he raised one eyebrow at the sudden intrusion. A cheery smile played on his lips and his golden brown eyes burned with mischief. His hair was shaggy and long, much like Sam's. The Winchester shut the door behind him and was about to offer a greeting, but he was cut short.

"Wow, looks like I got the hot brother. You know, I didn't know the feds were allowed to be so good-looking. Also, what's with the hair?"

Sam's brow furrowed, his mouth agape. "What?"

Michael closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation. He glared at his sibling. "Agent Winchester, isn't it?" Michael inquired. "You Sam or Dean?"

"Sam, sir," the agent answered respectfully, Bobby's words kept close in mind.

"Sam, please ignore my brother. Gabriel's never been one for professionalism," he explained.

Gabriel grinned cheekily at the Winchester while Sam stepped closer to the Archangels. Michael cleared his throat before speaking to the two new partners.

"This is definitely something we haven't had for a while," he told them. "Four Demons killed in the past three weeks, with no obvious connections or motive. It's up to you to find out who's behind it and put a stop to it."

Gabriel watched his brother in mock-concern. "Michael, has someone socked your head with a brick recently?"

Michael retorted, "Gabriel, will you focus for once-"

"I'm just not sure if you heard yourself," he returned. "Someone's killing Demons? And you want us to stop them? We should send them a fucking fruit basket instead!"

The elder Archangel scowled. "If you'd let me finish," he growled. "There are no obvious connections, except for the fact that each had been stabbed by an Angel blade."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Sorry, Angel blade? What's that?"

"Well, Angels have no use for Demon knives or shotguns filled with salt. We rely on our powers," Michael explained. "But we also keep Angel blades for when the situation is dire."

"They're nothing special," Gabriel added sarcastically. "Just the only things that can successfully kill an Angel."

"OK, so who's got these Angel blades beside you guys?" Sam asked.

"That's the problem. Only Angels carry those kinds of blades," Michael explained.

"Huh." Sam pursed his lips. "Then what's your guess?"

"Rogue Angel?" Gabriel suggested.

Michael raised one eyebrow and chuckled quietly. "Whoever it is, you stop them and bring the blade back."

Sam barely opened his mouth when a brief flutter of wings rang in his ears. Michael disappeared in the blink of an eye.

"All right," Gabriel said with a sigh as he rounded on the Winchester. "We got four victims, no connections, no suspects and no motive. Where do you want to start?"

Sam's forehead wrinkled for the third time that day. He sighed and absently chewed his lip. This was going to be a tricky one.


	4. Chapter 4

"It's because of my vessel."

Dean turned to meet Castiel's eyes. " 'Scuse me?"

"The trenchcoat and tie," Castiel elaborated somewhat awkwardly, nodding at his attire. "I wear them because of my vessel. He requested that I didn't part with them once I took his body."

"OK, how do you know that?" Dean asked.

Castiel's brow furrowed. "He specifically told me to keep them."

"No." Dean groaned. "I meant, how d'you know I wondered about that?"

"I read your mind," Castiel answered, crinkles disappearing.

Dean blinked."You can read minds?"

"Of course," the Angel replied like it was obvious.

"Well, don't read mine," Dean said gruffly. The thought of someone snooping around in his head made him uneasy and tense.

"My apologies. I won't do it anymore."

"Thanks," Dean muttered as the coroner returned.

"We got the newest body out for you guys," he told the two. "If you need the others, let me know."

Dean and Castiel followed him into the small room occupied by a single metal bed. A body lay on top, covered by a white sheet. The coroner nodded slightly and tapping along on his clipboard, stepped out.

Dean tugged on a pair of rubber gloves, but Castiel headed straight for the body. He plucked the cover off of the victim's torso and placed his palms right on top of the wounds.

"Whoa, whoa, put on some gloves, will ya?" Dean called.

"I don't need them," the Angel returned. Castiel traced his fingers over each cut, jabbing and poking every now and then.

When he adjusted his gloves, Dean joined Castiel at the table. "What do you think?" he asked, nodding at the slashes.

At first, the Angel didn't reply. He continued his examination in silence, and when Dean opened his mouth to repeat his question, Castiel looked up. "Hell hound," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"A hell hound," Dean repeated.

"Yes."

"How the fuck did you come up with that?"

Castiel frowned. "We know that something left similar marks on the floor of the victims' homes. Look at these cuts. They're jagged, must have been made by an animal with claws. Judging by the depth, width and distance, a large animal, like a bear. Except that these wounds reek of sulphur. No mortal animal leaves a smell like that. Hell hounds on the other hand do, and are known to easily grow to the size of a black bear or even a grizzly bear," he explained.

Dean nodded. "OK, fine. But what are the chances all ten were attacked by a hell hound, huh? And all in the exact same week?"

"I agree," Castiel responded. "But suppose the ten of them made a deal around the same time?"

"Too big of a coincidence. That's impossible," Dean said.

"Unlikely, yes. But not entirely impossible," Castiel disagreed. "We need to find a connection between them."

Castiel removed his hands from the body. Suddenly, the blood was gone and his fingers were clean. Dean did a double-take, but didn't mention it.

"We should check their files then," Dean told him. "Pull up everything we have on these guys."

With that, Dean let the coroner know they were done and the two left to the branch's Information and Technology Division. Castiel turned out to be rather uncomfortable with elevators. Dean couldn't blame him. The guy probably flew around everywhere, what with being an Angel and having wings and all. He probably found walking strange. When the elevator announced their arrival, Dean made a beeline for the office at the far end of the room. They passed a maze of computers, excited chatters following them as they went.

"What is this place?" Castiel asked, gazing at the endless lines of computers.

"Information and Technology Division," Dean answered. "The branch's personal supply of hackers and IT technicians. It's basically where all the geeks are. Instead of the field, they choose to be stuck in a cubicle all day, with only a computer for company."

Dean knocked on the door and without waiting, pulled the door back.

"Hey, Frank," he greeted.

The Head of the Division, Frank Deveraux, barely glanced up from his computer. "Winchester. What can I do for you?" he asked. When he noticed Castiel behind Dean, he added, "You fucked up my entire system, by the way."

"I'm sorry," Castiel replied, although he obviously had no idea what Frank was talking about.

"Took me half an hour to put it all back together," Frank continued. "S'there any way you guys can turn that frequency down?"

"OK, Frank. Focus," Dean cut off. "Are either Charlie or Ash free?"

With a heavy sigh, Frank pressed against the keyboard with lightning speed. "Ash is busy helping Garth and his cherub, but Charlie's as free as a bird."

"Great, thanks." Then with a swift turn on his heel, he muttered to Castiel, "Walk before he starts talking again."

"Heard that, Winchester," they heard Frank drone from his desk as the door shut behind them.

"Who are Charlie and Ash?" Castiel wanted to know.

"Only the best hackers we got," Dean explained. "Ash is the dude with the mullet."

He gestured at the young man who's head peeked from behind the cubicle walls. Dean offered a wave to Ash, who gave a thumbs up in return and continued typing away on his keyboard.

"Don't let the hair fool you. He's a genius," Dean told Castiel. "And this here is Charlie," he said when they came to a halt behind a girl with ginger hair.

She whipped around in her chair when she heard her name. "Dean, hi! What brings you down to the lair?" She smiled somewhat shyly at the Angel. "Oh. Hi."

"Hello," Castiel returned.

"Charlie, we need some help," Dean told her.

Charlie broke eye contact with Castiel and nodded. "OK, what do you need?"

"Information on these ten guys." Dean pulled out a list from his breast pocket and handed it over. "Look for any weird activities in the past ten years."

"Weird as in?" Charlie asked, scanning the paper.

"As in suddenly-made-a-fuckload-of-money weird," Dean returned.

"OK." She smiled brightly. "I'll call in when I get something."

"You're the best, thanks."

"Now what?" Castiel asked as they left Charlie's cubicle.

"Now we wait."

* * *

Sam ignored the paper ball tossed at his head. He did his best to ignore the next one as well. By the third, however, he lost his temper.

"Damn it, Gabriel! Cut it out and help me, will you?" he snapped.

Gabriel, who was sucking on a lollipop with his feet propped on the table, replied calmly, "No."

"Then leave me alone. I'm trying to do some research," Sam responded. "And will you take your feet off the table?"

"I'm an Archangel, baby," Gabriel teased. "I can do whatever I want."

The Winchester scowled and went back to reading. When another ball of paper narrowly missed his head, he slammed his book. "Gabriel!"

"I'm bored! Why are we here anyway?" Gabriel whined. "I can easily tell you all you need to know about Angels."

"I just want to look at some of our records. No harm in double-checking," Sam explained.

"And how's that coming along?" Gabriel inquired, the sarcasm unmistakable.

Sam sighed despite himself. "So far, there have been no accounts on Angels going around on a Demon-killing spree."

"See? Told ya."

When Sam didn't offer a reply, Gabriel turned to glance around the room. "So, what exactly is this place?"

Sam looked at him as if he was an idiot. "The library."

"Yeah, thanks. I can tell, doofus," Gabriel snapped. "I meant, where d'you guys get all these crappy handwritten books? Who's hoarding all this info?"

"The Men of Letters," Sam answered simply.

"Oh, my mistake. That clears everything up."

Sam frowned. "The Men of Letters hold the oldest Division in the branch. Everything we know about monsters is because they found it out first. They hunted and they wrote books. The knowledge was passed on like that."

Gabriel nodded. "How come you're not that?"

"Sorry?"

"How come you didn't become a Man of Letters? You seem like one of those nerdy, bookish dudes. No offence." Gabriel grinned as he apologized, so Sam didn't believe him much.

The Winchester shrugged. "I dunno. My grandfather was a one of them, just like his dad and his dad. He wanted it to continue like that, from father to son, you know? But my dad just preferred the field. When he was offered the job, he decided to become a hunter instead. Dean and I sort of followed in _his_ footsteps rather than Grandpa's, I guess.

"My mom's family, on the other hand, were all hunters. Every single one. Except my mom, of course. Her dad trained her and prepared her and everything, but when the time came, she simply didn't enroll. She didn't want that kind of life."

"But she married your dad," Gabriel said in a disbelieving tone.

Sam chuckled. "Yeah. The two met one day in the coffee shop she was working at, hit it off and eventually got married."

"Huh, what are the odds?" Gabriel laughed. The two stayed quiet for a little until the Archangel broke the silence. "All right, we're not gonna accomplish anything sitting around here."

"Oh, so you're done being unhelpful and actually have a suggestion?" Sam teased.

"Don't sass me, Sammy. I can smite you," Gabriel returned. "But yeah, I've got an idea as to someone we could visit."

As the two stood up to leave, Sam added, "Don't call me Sammy."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you prefer Sammykins?"

"No, Gabriel. Don't call me-"

"Or how about Moosechester? Sasquatch? No, _Sam_ squatch!"

"Gabriel!"


	5. Chapter 5

_4:30._

The red numbers glowered at Dean, furious and taunting, as if they questioned why he wasn't asleep yet. The agent rolled over, his back turned to the angry alarm clock. He felt more awake than he ever did at four in the morning, which was strange considering that he got his ass handed to him by that vampire a few hours back. But no matter how horribly his muscles burned, his bones ached and his brain screamed for rest, sleep just wasn't coming to him tonight.

Dean reached out for the phone on his bedside table. Squinting irritatedly at the too bright screen, he checked his calls and his messages. Nothing. For all he knew, Sam could have been dead. A cold shiver shot through his spine at the thought of his brother, lying wounded and helpless in some gutter. Why did he have to go driving out into the night, to an unfamiliar city? Couldn't the case wait till the morning? Muttering vaguely about getting it together, Dean considered slapping himself out of it.

Sam was with Gabriel after all, a freaking _Archangel_. He'd be fine. Besides, Sam could take care of himself. The kid knew how to kill a man six different ways with a paperclip, for Christ's sake. He had shotguns and knives and machetes and tonnes of other crap. He'd be fine.

Dean took a peek at his alarm clock again. _4:37._

Yeah, he'd definitely get no sleep tonight.

The familiar ringtone of his phone pulled Dean out of his reverie. As he scrambled to grab his cell, Dean's mind blew up. _What if it's Sam? What if he's hurt? Will he know where he is? Shit, what if he dying? Shit shit shit shit-_

"Hey, Dean. It's Charlie."

Dean exhaled in relief. "Hi, Charlie," he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

"Ooh, sorry. Did I wake you?" she asked.

"Nah. Can't sleep," Dean assured her. "Anyway, what's up?"

"Well, I ran the names through the system," Charlie explained.

"And?"

"And nothing. I couldn't find anything suspicious. All ten led pretty normal lives; nice house, nice family, nice job."

Dean groaned inwardly, aware that their only lead just went down the drain. "Crap."

"I did manage to find a connection between them, though," Charlie piped up.

"Really?" Dean sat up straight.

"Yeah. They all worked for Richard Roman's firm. You know, _Richard Roman Enterprises_?" she said.

"Dick Roman? Yeah, I think I heard the name," Dean replied, balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear as he tugged on his trousers. "Thanks, Charlie. I owe you."

"You bet your ass you owe me," she joked.

Pulling one hand through his sleeve and handling the phone with the other, Dean ended the call, then dialed another number. He placed the cell between his ear and shoulder again as he waited for Castiel to pick up, buttoning up his shirt as he did so. The Angel picked up after the fourth ring.

"Hey, Cas. It's Dean," the agent clarified.

"Hello, Dean," came the gravelly reply.

"Yeah, listen. Could you pop down to base? I gotta talk to you," Dean explained.

"Where are you?" Castiel asked.

"My room."

The moment the words left Dean's mouth, feathers rustled and the Angel stood toe-to-toe with the Winchester. There was a pin-drop silence for the shortest of seconds, then Castiel pocketed his phone and Dean jumped back some three feet.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel offered again when Dean didn't speak- he was too busy trying to get his heart rate to calm down.

"Jesus Christ, Cas," Dean retorted. "Don't do that!"

"I'm sorry," Castiel replied with a dismissive tone. "What did you call me for?"

It took Dean a second to recollect his thoughts. "Charlie called me," he began, his tone still a little irritated. "Says she didn't find anything out of the ordinary, but she did find out that all ten victims worked together," he told the Angel.

Cas nodded. "We should go down to their workplace," he suggested.

"You read my mind," Dean responded, and briefly wondered if the Angel indeed did take a peek into his brain again. "They worked at _Richard Roman Enterprises._ It's about a four-hour drive from here."

"Why would we drive?" Castiel questioned. "I can get us there in less than a minute."

"No!" Dean dragged the syllable out. "I'm not down with flying."

"I understand," Cas answered.

Stepping out into the hall, Dean questioned, "So, how much d'you know about Richard Roman?"

"I'm assuming he is the owner of the company," Cas answered. "I've never heard of him before."

"What? You Angels don't have cable up in paradise?" Dean teased. When it was obvious that Castiel was about to reply, he quickly interrupted, "Never mind. Anyway, Roman's one of the richest dudes in the country which is incredible because his company has only picked up recently. Some, what, two or three years ago?"

"But that doesn't make sense," Castiel said. "Demon deals last for ten years. If Roman's company was established just a few years ago, then our victims must have known each other prior to working together, otherwise..."

"Otherwise the entire theory blows," Dean concluded. "Man, this case keeps getting weirder and weirder."

* * *

Sam shook himself awake for what felt like the thousandth time. He groaned, reaching out for the paper cup beside his seat. He drained the remaining now-cold coffee in two gulps, yet he still felt as exhausted as he was a few minutes ago. They'd been on the road for ages. Sam lost track of time a long time ago, but judging by the rising sun, it must have been over eight hours since they set out.

"Need a refill?" Gabriel piped up beside him.

Sam jumped slightly, having forgotten about the Archangel. Gabriel's sock-clad feet were propped up on the dashboard, and his head dangled aimlessly over his shoulder. Sam thought Gabriel had fallen asleep, but he mentally slapped himself when he remembered that Angels do not, in fact, require sleep. A trait Sam really wished he had right about now.

"Sure," Sam replied, and a snap of fingers later, his cup was filled up with steaming liquid again. "Gabriel, what's this?" Sam asked once he realized the drink was missing it's characteristic rich brown colour.

"It's tea, jackass. Try it, it'll help," the Archangel retorted.

Ignoring the snide remark, Sam took a tentative sip, as if unsure whether Gabriel had poisoned the blend. When he established that the tea was perfectly fine, he licked his lip absently. "Thanks. It's good."

Gabriel smirked triumphantly. "Sammy, why torture yourself like this? Let me drive!" he whined.

"Do you even know how to drive?" Sam inquired.

"No, but how hard can it be?" Gabriel returned.

Sam chuckled, feeling a little more cheerful after the tea. "You could potentially kill us both."

"Well, a car crash can't kill _me_ ," Gabriel said. "But I promise I'll resurrect you the minute something goes wrong."

"Oh, that's reassuring," Sam responded. "Look, how about you tell me who we're going to see?"

"Just a friend," the Archangel explained simply.

"Angel?"

"Yeah."

"He also in the Heavenly Host?"

"He _was_. But Balthazar prefers to abide by his own rules. He left the Host a few hundred years ago. Works by himself now. He's what you'd call a bounty hunter."

Sam's brow furrowed. "An Angel bounty hunter?"

"Yeah. He takes his own cases. But Michael does occasionally give him some stuff. It's better this way, if you ask me. Balthazar gets work done on his own terms, and Michael enjoys the benefits of a closed case," Gabriel elaborated.

"So, what's he like?" Sam wanted to know.

"He's great. Friendly, knows how to take a joke, breaks the rules often. Basically me, only not as handsome," he answered. "Trust me, you'll like him."

Sam wasn't so sure of that. The Archangel was hard enough to handle by himself, and the prospect of two Gabriels didn't exactly soothe Sam's nerves. "Where will we find him? In Heaven?"

Gabriel shook his head and stated, "He spends most of his time down here now. Rarely ever pops upstairs anymore, if you catch my drift."

"I catch it," Sam assured him.

Gabriel grinned toothily. "The one lousy thing about Balth is- you're not gonna find him if he doesn't want to be found. The guy's a genius at concealing himself. Seriously, it's like playing hide-and-seek with an invisible ninja who also happens to be part chameleon. Something about liking his privacy."

"So how are we going to find him?" Sam asked.

"Lucky for you, Sammykins," Gabriel teased, "I know Balthazar like the back of my hand. He's gonna be hard to track, sure, but not impossible."

Sam nodded as if to prompt him to go on.

"He builds himself a house somewhere off the grid, and wrecks it a few years later when the location's figured out. Then he picks a totally different, damn near unbreachable place, sets up shop there and the game starts again," Gabriel said cheerfully. "The last time I saw him, which was like, five years ago give or take, he had a gorgeous manor in south California. Time before that, a lodge in Canada. Then there was a beach house on Hawaii. And before _that_ , a penthouse in the Big Apple."

"A penthouse? Not very inconspicuous." Sam snorted.

"Oh, you have no idea how long it took us to find him that time," Gabriel countered. "Longest it ever did, I think. Almost seven years, actually. He called it hiding in plain sight."

Sam chuckled. "And you think he's here, in Colorado?"

"No, I think he's in New Mexico," Gabriel snapped. "Of course I think he's in Colorado! Why else would I make you drive all the way out here?"

"Well, what makes you think he's there?" Sam asked.

"I've been following up a trail which I think might be him. Most of the cases seem to be from around that place."

"Any idea where in Colorado?"

"Somewhere upstate probably. The woods there give a pretty secluded location, don't ya think? Perfect for hiding."

After that, the ride turned silent again. They crossed the border about half an hour after that and by the time the pink tinge disappeared from the sky, the two stopped at a nearby restaurant for some breakfast. Once Sam had received his eggs and toast, and Gabriel carefully nursed his scorching coffee, the conversation started again.

"How come you're drinking that?" Sam suddenly asked with a nod at the red mug.

Gabriel briefly glanced down at his coffee as if to establish what his partner was referring to. "Hey, just 'cause I don't need food doesn't mean I don't enjoy it. Coffee's one of the few good things you guys came up with. That and chocolate." He shrugged.

"You have a sweet tooth?" Sam inquired.

"Huge," the Archangel confirmed. When Sam burst out laughing, Gabriel's lips curved into an exaggerated pout and he said, "Watch it, Moosechester. No laughing at the Archangel. I can smite you anytime I want."

"Sorry," Sam offered as he returned his attention to his eggs. "I mean, Archangel with a sweet tooth? Now I've seen it all."

Gabriel grinned bemusedly into his drink and he took another sip.

"Hey, Gabriel," Sam stated, then stopped, unsure how to phrase it. "You're an Archangel."

"Excellent, Sam. I see why people praise your intellect," Gabriel remarked.

The Winchester pulled a bitchface and continued, "How come you're down here then? Working out here in the field?"

"Why wouldn't I be, Sammy?" Gabriel looked genuinely confused now.

"No, I just mean that Raphael and Michael don't go out on the field. They stay upstairs. You don't. How come?"

"Well, someone's gotta make sure things run smoothly upstairs. And someone else has to make sure that someone doesn't burst an aorta from time to time," Gabriel explained.

"So Raphael, he's like Michael's right hand?" Sam asked.

"Yup. He's in charge of training, assigning Angels to cases, stuff like that," the Archangel said.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "How come you don't do that?"

"Sam, can you honestly see me doing that?" Gabriel chuckled. "I wouldn't want to be cooped up in paradise, chasing down Seraphs and smiting an occasional Cherub. That's Raph's thing." He then furrowed his brow as he studied Sam's face. "What's with the sudden questions, Sammy? I feel like I'm on a date," he asked amusedly.

"Just interested," Sam returned somewhat defensively.

"Well, eat up. We gotta catch Balthazar before he disappears on us again."

As Sam went on to butter his toast, Gabriel ordered another coffee for himself, all the while watching the sun finally break free from the stuffy, grey clouds.


	6. Chapter 6

Although it was only eight in the morning, the sun was coming down unbearably hard and Sam found himself thanking God for the abundant shade the trees provided. He wasn't sure how much ground they had covered in the past hour, but judging by the sheer size of the forest, he guessed they still had a long way to go. Gabriel had been their guide so far, relying only on his senses. He had briefly explained the navigational advantages that came along with his Archangelic powers, but Sam didn't quite grasp the concept. Something about being able to distinguish an Angel's presence with his Grace.

Sam was pulled out of his musing when Gabriel stopped dead in his tracks. The Archangel slipped his eyes shut and breathed deeply. His head suddenly snapped to the side, brow narrowed and eyes focused. Just as Sam moved to say something, Gabriel met his puzzled gaze.

"He's close, just through those trees there," Gabriel told the agent, nodding at the thicket of pines to their immediate left.

Sam followed the Archangel through the maze, slapping away twigs and leaves as he walked. They finally broke free from the mass and came upon a breathtaking sight.

A grand lake house, made entirely out of wood, stood proudly beside a large, gleaming pond. The sundeck stepped right into the water while the front porch held the entrance; a shiny brass-knobbed double door made of oak. In front of the house was a patio, complete with garden furniture, a small picnic table and a barbecue grill. And there, lounging on one of the sofas, was the man Sam presumed was Balthazar.

The Angel tilted his sunglasses a little as if to check that the two were really there. Then suddenly, a grin broke out on his lips and he stood up.

"Well, well, well," he drawled smugly in a British accent. "Look who it is."

A smirk appeared on Gabriel's own lips as he stepped forward to greet his old friend. "How have you been, Balth?"

"Fine, fine," the Brit replied with a dismissive wave. With a quick glance at Sam, he asked, "So, Michael's really done it? You really are working with this lot now?"

Sam frowned at his disbelieving tone, but Gabriel chuckled. "Yeah. This is my new partner-"

"Sam Winchester, I know," Balthazar cut in, carefully examining Sam. "I've heard all about you and your brother. Quite the talk around town."

"Uh, thanks," Sam responded, unsure if that was a compliment or not.

"Come on, let's go inside. The sun's getting much too bright now," Balthazar offered with a quirk of his eyebrow.

The partners followed him back to the house and into the lofty living room. It had two enormous glass windows overlooking the deck and the lake. Sam gaped at the pool, awestruck by the way it reflected the clear blue sky above perfectly. The surface rumpled under the occasional light breeze, causing the sun's image in the water to glimmer rapidly.

Balthazar indicated for the two to sit down as he headed over to the mini bar. "What would you like to drink? Gin? Scotch? Oh, I've got some vodka too, if you like."

"Ooh, scotch for me," Gabriel returned.

"Sam, what can I get you?" Balthazar inquired while he poured Gabriel's drink.

"No thanks, I don't drink at eight AM," Sam answered, his tone sarcastic.

"Cheeky," Balthazar told him, handing Gabriel his glass. "No doubt the two of you get on remarkably well."

"You have no idea," Sam muttered.

"Oh, stop it, Sammykins. You're making me blush," Gabriel teased back.

Balthazar took a sip of his scotch before continuing. "Not that I don't love having you over, darling," he stated. "But I have a feeling you've come for something other than ten-year-old gin."

Gabriel grinned, setting down his drink. He then snapped his fingers and a file popped into his lap. "We're on a case," he explained and he indicated at the folder. "Four victims. No connections. No motive."

Balthazar nodded, but his eyebrows knit together. "I'm guessing that that's not the problem."

"All four were Demons, and all were killed with an Angel blade," Gabriel said conclusively.

"And there's the punch line." Balthazar chuckled.

"Balthazar," Gabriel began seriously. "Where is your Angel blade?"

Balthazar placed a hand over his heart mockingly. "Gabe, I'm hurt. Do you think that low of me?"

" _Balthazar_ ," Gabriel warned again.

"Darling, you know as well as I do that I had to hand my blade over when I left," Balthazar answered. "I'm pretty sure Michael has it framed as proof that I'm finally out of his hair."

"How do we know you didn't forge a fake or made a new one?" Sam asked.

Balthazar glared at the Winchester. "Do you know how difficult it is to forge a believable copy of an Angel blade, much less actually make a _proper_ one? It takes ages, and frankly I don't have the skill nor the patience," he retorted and he turned to Gabriel. "Look, bottom line, I gave mine back and haven't held one since. All I can do for you is name the victims."

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "And here I thought you said you had nothing to do with the killings."

"I've spent long enough working down here, Gabriel. Trust me, I can name most Demons by now," he explained. "Let me see the victims."

The Archangel sighed, but took out the pictures anyway. He handed them to Balthazar, who immediately got to work. He scanned through each photo quickly, his eyes flashing back and forth across the paper. He examined each stab wound separately, then compared them, and then each individually again. When he finished, he dropped the photographs on the table.

"It's just as I thought," he muttered.

Sam brought his eyebrows together and Gabriel scowled slightly. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"These," Balthazar nodded, "are some of the toughest Demons in the country. They're the equivalent of mob bosses. I've been hearing rumours about these blokes. Been dropping like flies I hear, but that's all I thought it was- just rumours."

Gabriel and Sam exchanged a puzzled look.

"You have any idea if Michael has anyone working on the case? I mean, Demon mob bosses. Sounds pretty important," Sam said.

Balthazar waved a hand dismissively as Gabriel replied, "Nah, I've never heard of any of these guys. They're not that big a threat to us."

"Why would an Angel go out of their way to gank a couple of demonic crime lords?" Sam asked.

"No idea. As Gabe said, the sods weren't much of a threat to Angels. They quarrel amongst themselves mostly," Balthazar piped up.

"Balth, do you know any other Angels who might be working without Michael's orders?" Gabriel inquired.

Balthazar shook his head. "Sorry, love. No clue."

"So what do we do now?" Gabriel stared at Sam.

Sam stayed silent for a moment, mulling everything over and contemplating their next move. "We go back to the crime scenes. See what we can find."

* * *

"Have you ever considered praying?"

Dean snapped his gaze from the road and squinted at Castiel, like the Angel was a puzzle he just couldn't solve. "What?"

"Praying to an Angel is a way of summoning them," Castiel explained. "It's much quicker than your cell phones. And far less complicated, for that matter."

"Cas, I'm not gonna pray to you." Dean snorted as he turned his attention back on the road.

"Why not?" Castiel questioned.

"I'm not much of the praying type," Dean responded.

"You're not a man of faith?"

"Nope."

"Then how do you explain your creation?"

"Ever heard of a guy called Darwin? Dude had some crazy ideas. Called it evolution."

Castiel stayed silent, and then- "What about me?"

"What _about_ you?" Dean repeated.

"I certainly haven't come into existence through evolution. How do you explain my creation, and that of my kin?"

"Look, Cas. I've been doin' this job long enough to learn to take things as they come. When you see what's really out there, you stop questioning it. Don't need to know how or why, just need to know how to kill it," Dean replied.

"You're a very intriguing being, Dean Winchester," Castiel offered.

The ride turned silent again until they pulled up into the parking lot of _Richard Roman Enterprises_.

"You got your badge?" Dean asked Castiel.

"Yes," Castiel confirmed in a deadpan tone.

"When I take mine out, do the same," he reminded.

"Yes," came the same reply.

"OK, let's go."

Crossing the lot, Dean observed around him. People were bustling in and out of several buildings, carrying all sorts of things, from simple files to incredibly large containers. Noise and chatter filled the parking lot. Just as one vehicle left, another arrived. Overall, a very busy atmosphere.

The two headed for one of the structures labeled _Main Building_ in hopes of finding Roman's office. Before they could enter however, they were stopped by a guard.

"Gentlemen," he drawled. "May I see some ID?"

Dean pulled out his ID from his breast pocket and flipped it open. "Agent Winchester. This is my partner, Agent Novak. We're here-"

Dean groaned softly when he saw Castiel's badge, which was upside down. After swiftly turning it over, he cleared his throat.

"We're here with the FBI," he finished.

"Go on in," the guard responded, but kept his eyes on Castiel.

Pocketing his badge, Dean nodded to Castiel, indicating to follow him. They stopped in front of a semicircular metal desk with the words _Front Desk_ plastered onto it in silver letters.

"Good morning," the secretary chirped. "How may I help you, gentlemen?"

"We're here to see Mr Roman," Dean answered, then flicked Castiel's arm when he noticed the Angel gazing at the potted orchid.

"Unfortunately, Mr Roman can't see you right now. He's booked the entire day. You can schedule a meeting, if you like-"

" _Unfortunately_ , we don't have the time for rescheduling." Dean flashed his badge.

"Oh. OK." With a quick press on her phone, she mumbled, "Uh, Mr Roman, I have two federal agents who wish to speak with you. Agents..." She looked at Dean expectantly.

"Winchester and Novak."

"That."

" _Thank you, Cathy. Send them right in_ ," came the reply.

"Mr Roman will see you now. Sixth floor, first door on the right," the secretary, Cathy, told the two.

Dean offered a brief knock on the desk in salute, and Castiel submitted a small, "Thank you," before disappearing after his partner.

One short elevator ride and an awkward silence later, Dean and Castiel reached the sixth floor. With a brief glance at the Angel, Dean rapped his knuckles against the door and stepped inside.

"Gentlemen, welcome," Richard Roman greeted them.

"Hello, Mr Roman," Dean returned.

"Please," Roman said, gesturing at the chairs in front of him. "Sit."

Roman folded his fingers carefully as Dean and Castiel approached the desk and sat down. "How may I help you?" he inquired with an amused grin.

"Mr Roman, I'm pretty sure you're aware of the recent deaths of some of your employees," Dean told him.

"Yes, very unfortunate. I was shocked when they told me." Roman focused his attention on Dean.

"The victims, did they all work together?"

"No, actually." Roman leaned back in his chair. "Four worked in the research facility. In fact, they were leading my newest project. So unlucky to have lost them. Two more worked as my attorneys. Then three were my representatives. And the last was my personal assistant."

Dean raised his eye brows and considered his next question. "Did, uh," he said, "any of them communicate with each other outside of their divisions?"

"I don't see a reason why they would," Roman answered a little too cheerily for someone who had just lost ten workers. "If they did, it would have been outside of work hours."

"Any of them been acting strange before they died? Skipped work, had anxiety attacks, maybe started hallucinating?" Dean suggested.

"Not that I've heard of," Roman said. "Although, my PA did request a day off a short while ago. I believe she said it was for her sister's wedding. But that's hardly a reason to panic or have hallucinations."

"Well, you never know what's goin' through a woman's head," Dean returned. "Thank you. I think that'll be all."

"Please, do come back if you have any further questions," Roman told him as they shook hands.

"Will do," Dean said.

"You have a good day now, agents," Roman called as the two exited his office.

The second the door shut behind them, Dean turned on his partner.

"Well, that was not very helpful," Dean concluded.

"None of the victims seemed to show any symptoms," Castiel agreed.

"There is something seriously weird with this case, Cas," Dean told his partner.

Castiel nodded wordlessly. "I suggest you get something for lunch. You must be hungry."

Dean couldn't deny the irritating gnawing that had manifested in his gut. With a barely audible mumble, he picked up his pace and the two headed for the Impala.


	7. Chapter 7

"OK. Recap," Dean said around his burger. "We got ten dead dudes who may or may not have known each other before getting jobs in the same company. They all kick the bucket ten years later almost two days apart from each other. Their deaths look like demon deals, but none of them showed any of the symptoms before dying and none of them got lucky in any fucking way ten years prior. And _now_ we find out they might have not even met each other before." Dean set down his food. "So to sum up this entire clusterfuck of an experience, we've got zip. Again."

Castiel offered a wordless nod as the agent turned to eat again. "Something strange is definitely happening. I've never heard of cases like this before."

"Yeah. You can say that again," Dean grumbled. "What's up with this case, man? Nothing adds up!"

Castiel seemed to consider Dean's words carefully in his mind. Then he replied, "Perhaps we've missed something. Maybe we should look over the files again or examine the rest of the bodies."

"Your guess is as good as mine," Dean returned and he happened to glance at the Angel's lips just a smidge too long. Brow furrowing and green eyes zapping suddenly to his plate, Dean chewed silently, aware of the heat slowly crawling up his cheeks.

OK, so the dude had a nice mouth. Damn it, he had a seriously nice mouth. As in, perfectly pink and full and soft-looking and-

_Holy shit, I can't be thinking about Cas' mouth. Dude can read minds. Shit, stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. Stop fucking thinking about it!_ Dean silently chastised himself. _He's your partner, for Christ's sake, you can't fucking think about his freaking mouth!_ He risked a small peek at the Angel.

Castiel, however, seemed fixed on the piece of wall right over Dean's head. Eyebrows slightly brought together and head tilted to the side, he completely ignored the Winchester as Dean snapped his fingers if front of him.

"Hey, Earth to Cas. You're zoning out, buddy," Dean called to the trancelike Angel. "Dude, seriously. People are lookin' at you-"

"Dean, we have to go," Castiel muttered urgently.

Burger half way towards his mouth, Dean blinked. "What, now?"

"Something's wrong," Cas replied vaguely. He brought his palm in front of Dean's face and pressed two fingers against his forehead.

A second later, Dean's jaw dropped at the sudden change of scenery.

_The parking lot at_ REE, he thought vaguely.

Dean's legs suddenly wobbled. Then, he felt dizzy. And then, sick. God damn it, he hated flying.

He rounded on Castiel with as much force as he could muster. "Dude, what the-"

But Castiel was already halfway across the parking lot. Grumbling absently under his breath, he picked up his pace and jogged up to the Angel.

"What the hell, man?! You can't just zap me around however you want-"

"Dean, there is something really wrong here," Cas answered.

And before Dean could ask _just what the fuck was that dude smoking_ , he saw it.

Yellow tape coiled messily around the front desk they had stood at just two hours ago. Broken glass peppered the chipped tiles. Once polished silver letters were scattered about. A crushed orchid lay pathetically on the ground.

And blood. Blood everywhere. It tainted the walls, stained the metal desk and splattered the floor with dark, smudgy handprints.

Something sharp and sudden nudged into Dean's side.

"Sorry," came a dismissive response.

It only took two seconds for Dean to realize that had been the body bag. He watched as the two paramedics rolled it past the great glass doors and out onto the parking lot.

"Can I help you two?" Dean heard a gruff voice behind him.

Spinning around, Dean pulled out his badge. "Yeah, actually. Agents Winchester and Novak. FBI," he answered.

"Detective Gills, " the man returned. " 'Bout time the Feds have shown up around here. Where've you guys been?"

"Excuse me?" Dean asked.

"You think what you see here's bad, sonny?" the detective responded. "Last week, old lady brought in a mauled arm. Said she found it in her garden. Where were you then, huh? Well, at least this time round we've got something more that just a limb."

Then Castiel stepped in. "Do you know the name of the victim?"

"Yep. Cathy Carter. Aged twenty-two, worked as Roman's secretary," he stated, reading off of his booklet.

Castiel and Dean's eyes met in the briefest of flashes.

"Anything else you can tell us about the death?" Castiel pressed on.

"Well, like your partner said, poor girl's insides were ribbons," Detective Gills went on. "So far, we got no idea what could have done it. One eyewitness said she simply exploded just like that," he explained with a snap of his fingers to emphasize his point.

"Who was the eyewitness?" Dean demanded.

"That guy over there. Billy Morton, he does the photocopies," Gills answered, pointing at one teenager leaning against the wall.

Dean and Castiel wasted no time in crossing the room, towards the shaking teenage boy.

"Billy Morton? Detectives Winchester and Novak," Dean informed him. "Would you like to tell us what you saw?"

Billy, although clearly terrified out of his mind, nodded shakily. "I don't know, man. It was crazy. I just came down from Mrs Barlett's office upstairs. She asked me to make some copies of the posters for her missing cat about an hour ago, and I was up there delivering them to her-"

"OK, but what happened with Cathy?" Dean specified.

Billy swallowed a sob before continuing, "Like I said, I just came back downstairs and she called me over to her desk. Told me I had to copy some files for Mr Roman and bring them in half and hour.

And halfway through talking, she just- _screamed_. It was horrible, man! I- I had to cover my ears! Then something shoved me into the wall-"

"Something shoved you?" Dean repeated. "Did you see what it was?"

"No, man! It was like some invisible force! Like, some serious _Star Wars_ stuff!"

"Hell hounds are invisible to everyone except their victim," Castiel muttered a reminder to Dean.

"Then what happened?" Dean urged.

"Cathy fell to the ground and- Oh God, there was blood everywhere. It was just coming out of her shirt, and- and she was crying and begging for it to stop-" Billy clapped his hand over his mouth, stifling a gasp. Tears pooled in his eyes as his words continued, slightly muffled, "I had to look away. Next thing I knew, the paramedics and the police came."

"Thanks, Billy. That's all," Dean told him.

"Would you excuse us?" Castiel asked, but didn't wait for a reply. Stepping aside with Dean, he began in a low rumble, "We've seen Cathy today and she didn't show any symptoms whatsoever. She couldn't have made any deal."

"Yeah, and she'd have to be freakin' twelve when she made it," Dean added. He groaned, rubbing his temples. "Cas, what the fuck is going on here, man?"

Castiel looked somber. "I don't know, Dean."

* * *

"All right, according to this," Sam said, scrolling through his phone as he and Gabriel strolled down the busy streets of Carson City, Nevada. "The first Demon was killed near _Carson Nugget_."

"Ooh, nuggets!" came the excited reply.

"It's a casino," Sam told his celestial partner.

Gabriel looked torn between disappointed and even more ecstatic. Settling on the latter, he smirked. "Why Sammy, you sure know how to show a girl a good time."

"Seriously, Gabriel," Sam rebuked. "We're here to work."

"Fine," Gabriel grumbled, huffing. "So where's the casino?"

"Just down the street, see?" Sam pointed in front of them.

Large and a painfully bright orange shade, the building was placed right at the corner of two streets. A red sign announced CASINO in big white letters.

"Wow, remind me to never wear that colour," Gabriel joked as they approached the building. "Where was the S.O.B. ganked?"

"In some alley behind the place," Sam answered.

"Oh, great. Not cliché at all," Gabriel said with a smirk.

The partners entered the shady lane, smothered in dirt, trash and graffiti. Sam took a look at the walls, searching for any signs of struggle, like cracks or scratch marks. It proved pointless, however; the murder was obviously carried out quickly and silently. He checked the ground for some clues- wrappers, pieces of clothes, _anything_.

He was kicking at the old newspaper on the ground when he saw it. A large, dark blood stain. It reeked horribly and Sam immediately recognized the smell; Sulphur.

_So this is where the Demon was killed_ , Sam thought. "Gabe, please tell me you got something. There's nothing but some blood here," he said aloud.

When the Archangel didn't offer a teasing reply, or any sort of reply for that matter, Sam tried again.

"Gabe, you hear me?" he asked.

"Something's not right, Sammy," Gabriel finally called from his spot down the alley.

Sam, who had been staring at the blood stain, turned and approached his partner. "What do you mean?"

Suddenly, Gabriel's eyes rolled back into his head and his eyelids slid shut. He inhaled and exhaled steadily, all the while standing still like a statue. His eyes flashed open, the usual spark in them absent. "Sam, there wasn't any Angel here," he told him.

"What? What do you mean?" Sam responded.

"I mean," Gabriel's voice turned snarky again, "that no Angel has stepped foot here in like, two centuries."

"How do you know?" Sam's voice sounded exasperated, not an odd occurrence around the Archangel.

"I just do, OK? Perks of being an Archangel," he retorted. "Angels haven't been killing our Demons."

Sam gaped around him. "Gabe, if it isn't an Angel," he stated, "then what the hell is it?"

For the first time that Sam had known him, Gabriel stayed silent. His brow furrowed and he scowled deeply. "I don't know, Sam."


	8. Chapter 8

Dean flicked through the case files over and over again, rolling over and combing through every piece of info he had. He could hear his foot tapping anxiously beneath the table he sat at, but he couldn't bring it to a stop. This case was infuriatingly confusing and all he wanted to do was bring it to a close.

Slapping the folder shut with a huff, he brought his hands to his head, massaging his temples. "Cas, I've got nothing," Dean called hoarsely.

The Angel simply sat cross-legged on the bed, transfixed by the wall in front of him. Already aggravated by the lack of leads, Dean tossed his pen across the room and managed to hit Castiel squarely on the ear. Cas snapped his head to the pen, and then at Dean.

"Good, you're paying attention," Dean said, somewhat crabby. He ignored the creeping warmth in his cheeks which appeared once Cas' unnervingly piercing gaze settled on him.

_Fucking damn it, dude's got really blue eyes._

Castiel paid no heed to the sudden change of colour on Dean's face. "I'm sorry, I was recollecting certain memories," he replied instead. "And now, I believe I have an idea."

"You're shitting me," Dean responded, a grin forming on his lips.

Castiel's brow furrowed. "Why-"

"Forget it," Dean cut him off with a wave of his hand. "What's your idea?"

"I don't believe any of those people made deals. They were targeted by the hell hounds," Castiel told him.

"What? They're just acting on their own accord?" Dean asked.

"Except that hell hounds are controlled by Demons," Castiel reminded him.

Dean's mind went blank. Then, an epiphany followed.

"You think a Demon's sending those bitches after people, even if they didn't deal?"

Castiel nodded. "Exactly."

"OK, but do you have any idea which Demon controls the hell hounds?" Dean questioned.

Castiel stayed silent, as if he was considering his next words carefully. "How much do you know about Lucifer?"

"You mean _the_ _devil_ , Lucifer?" Dean chuckled. "Not a whole bunch. Just that he was an Angel God sent to time-out in the Pit. Why?"

"Do you know why he was sent to hell?" Castiel inquired.

"Not really. I didn't pay much attention in religion class," Dean said.

Castiel inhaled deeply. "It is quite a long story. Are you sure you want to listen? You might find it... far-fetched."

"Hey, I'll keep an open mind, I promise." Dean crossed his heart. "Besides, s'not like we have any other leads."

An actual smile appeared on the Angel's lips. It was small and reserved, but it was there. And damn it if that smile wasn't the most heavenly thing Dean had ever seen.

"To fully understand what happened, I have to go back a few millenia prior to the story," Castiel explained. "It began when Eve appeared on Earth."

"Eve, who's that?" Dean interrupted.

"We call her the Mother of All Monsters," Castiel returned. "No one knows how she came into existence, but soon after her arrival, she began creating the first monsters called the Alphas.

"God saw Eve and her children as a threat to the future inhabitants of Earth, so He ordered us to destroy them. After their death, the monsters would leave to Purgatory; a place where they could be kept safely away from humans.

"We did as we were told. For years, we hunted the Alphas and Eve, until they were all locked up in Purgatory. Eve was the last to be captured. It was Michael who found her and killed her. Everything was quiet after that, until God created humans. He told us to love them more than Him, and most Angels obeyed. The only one who didn't agree was Lucifer, one of the four Archangels.

"To spite our Father, Lucifer created the first Demon, Lillith, out of a human soul. God was furious and cast Lucifer out of Heaven. This soon proved disastrous. Blinded by rage and hate for the human race, Lucifer created an army of Demons as well as opened Purgatory. Earth was in chaos; Demons were possessing humans and Alphas began turning them.

"We were sent to Earth to help the human race. Our main order was to destroy the monsters and the Demons. But God specifically told Michael to stop Lucifer. Michael was forced to choose between his closest brother and his loyalty to our Father. In the end, God created Hell and Michael threw Lucifer into it, locking him in his Cage.

"After that, Eve was sent back to Purgatory along with many of the monsters. But the Alphas evidently learned from their last stay on Earth. They hid from us, and we haven't found them since."

When it was obvious that Castiel wasn't going to say anything else, Dean piped up. "Cas, not that I don't appreciate this little story-time session, but what does this have to do with the case?"

"I mentioned a name that is crucial to my theory," Castiel replied. "Lillith, Lucifer's first Demon."

"What connection does she have to the case?" Dean pressed.

"During the war on Earth, Lillith was Lucifer's second in command, meaning she was in charge of the Demons." Castiel stressed on the next part of his sentence, "She was also in charge of the newly-created hell hounds, Lucifer's most deadly creations."

Silence surrounded the two as Dean soaked up all the information he had received.

"Of course, I have no idea if my idea holds water. After Lucifer was imprisoned, chaos erupted in Hell. Demons began ignoring orders and went off on their own. We don't even know if Lillith still has command over the hell hounds," Castiel added.

"Well, it's our best guess," Dean insisted. "Where's Lillith now?"

"I don't know. Some say she's on Earth, some say she was imprisoned in hell along with Lucifer," Cas said. "Either way, finding her and interrogating her is impossible and would most likely get us killed."

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

Dean almost reached for his gun when an uncharacteristic grin broke out on the Angel's face.

Castiel's smile only grew as he said, "I might have an idea."

* * *

The chilly afternoon in Carson City found Sam and Gabriel on the road again, in search of a burger joint. Sam sat behind the wheel, doing his absolute best to ignore the rumbling pain in his stomach while Gabriel sat beside him, pouring over the case files.

"So, an hour of rest and then straight to Arizona?" Sam asked, thinking to the next murder which took place in Phoenix.

"Aha," Gabriel offered vaguely, eyes fixed on the files.

Sam sighed and left the Archangel alone. His mind drifted to the case.

They had stayed in the alley for hours, sweeping it carefully over and over again, but they came up empty-handed. One thing was for sure though, it had never been an Angel committing the murders, and Gabriel had absolutely no idea what else could possess an Angel blade. Their best guess now was to check all the crime scenes and if they returned with nothing conclusive, they would have to report to Michael.

Sam's thoughts turned to his brother. He wondered how Dean was doing with his case, and how he and Castiel got along. As his stomach gave a particularly loud protest, Sam promised himself he'd give Dean a call the minute he got back to the motel.

Sam's interest perked when Gabriel suddenly sat up straight.

"You all right, Gabe?" Sam asked.

"OK, so I'm no expert in American geography," Gabriel stated, "but tell me something: Arizona, Texas, Nevada, New Mexico. What do they have in common?"

"Well, New Mexico, Arizona and Texas border with Mexico, right?" Sam said. "And..."

It was as if someone suddenly switched on a light bulb in Sam's brain.

"And?" Gabriel prompted when the Winchester trailed off.

"They all border with each other, like a chain. Nevada with Arizona, Arizona with New Mexico, and New Mexico with Texas," Sam finished. "Gabriel, open the glove compartment. There's a map in there. Take it out," he ordered.

"Way ahead of you, Sammykins. Pull the car over!" Gabriel replied, already scavenging through the pocket in front of him.

Sam did as the Archangel told him and stopped the car on the side of the road. Gabriel wasted no time in snatching the map and kicking the door open. Sam quickly followed as his partner lay out the map over the hood of car, eyes flashing over each state.

"Texas-" He pointed at the lowest state on the map. His finger followed the names as he read, "New Mexico. Arizona. Nevada." He met Sam's gaze, eyes bursting with excitement. "You got a pen?"

Sam fished out a pen from one of the pockets of his suit jacket and handed it to the Archangel.

"So, the first Demon was ganked in Carson City, right?" Gabriel asked, circling the aforementioned capital.

"Yeah, then the next one was in Phoenix," Sam continued while Gabriel circled that city too. "Then it was Albuquerque, and lastly, Houston."

The two stared at the four small circles on the map. Gabriel hunched over again and began drawing lines between the cities.

"There," Gabriel said once he finished. "It's a chain, like you said."

"Gabe, who ever's killing the Demons, he's going by some order," Sam pointed out. "He's moving state by state."

"Assuming your guess is correct- and I think it is-" Gabriel's finger trailed down the line. "The next stop should be-"

"Louisiana," the two said in unison.

Their eyes met and identical grins broke out on both faces.

"Gabe, we did it." Sam chuckled.

And for the first time, it felt as if they were finally getting somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, most of Cas' story is canon with the show, but I had to come up with a few minor details to fill up some holes.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam groaned into his filthy motel pillow, the sunlight glaring into the room through the window finally too bright to ignore. He sat up gingerly, rubbing his cheek and wondering just how many germs crawled around on his skin. Somewhere in the background, the Winchester could vaguely hear his partner talk over the phone.

"Just don't go to Florida, OK? It's hotter than Hell. No, I'm not kidding," Gabriel quietly spoke into the mouthpiece. "Oh! Gotta go, Sleeping Beauty's up."

Sam rubbed his eye as the Archangel pocketed his phone.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" Gabriel called.

"Hey. How long was I out?" Sam wanted to know.

"Three hours," Gabriel replied and crossed the room to where Sam sat.

"Who was on the phone?"

"Balthazar. He says he's having trouble picking a new place to hide in. I tried coaxing him into telling me his options, but he wouldn't budge."

Sam chuckled, still blinking away sleep.

"But that's not why I called him," Gabe went on. "I told him about our theory on Louisiana, asked if there's any funny business going on in the old Pelican state." His lips quirked into a grin as he spoke, "Balth says he knows of one black-eyed bastard down in New Orleans. Goes by the name Ricky. Apparently, he's big on stealing Demon deals and claiming the souls for himself."

"What's our plan?" Sam asked.

"Hey, don't ask me! You're the man with the plan! I've done my part," Gabriel teased.

Sam scowled slightly, but stayed silent, different scenarios playing out in his brain.

"Don't think too hard, Sammy. You'll lose irreplaceable cells," his partner said. "But seriously, you got anything? 'Cause I'm all out."

Sam nodded. "I might have something."

"Ooh, do share with the class," Gabe persisted.

"Did Balthazar tell you where we could find this guy?"

"Yup. Named me a couple of places where he tends to hang out."

"Perfect. We'll tail him until whatever's behind this shows up. Hopefully, we can catch it and put an end to this."

Gabriel grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Sounds like a plan, Moosechester."

"OK then, what are we waiting for? Louisiana is a day and a half's drive away from here. The sooner we leave, the better-"

Gabriel forced Sam back onto the bed when he tried to stand.

"Not so fast, Sammykins. You're not driving," Gabriel told him.

Sam scoffed. "Gabriel, knock it off-"

" _I'll_ driving this time," the Archangel continued as if he hadn't heard him. "And we're taking a little somethin' I like to call Angel Airways."

Sam barely processed Gabriel's words when a rush of air passed him and the room blurred out of existence.

* * *

"OK, Cas, I've done some stupid shit in my life," Dean stated. "But this outdoes them all."

"You may wait in the car, if you like," Castiel offered, adding some finishing touches to the Devil's trap in front of them.

"How do you expect this to work?" Dean demanded. "You think we'll just summon a Crossroad Demon, ambush it and force it into the freaking Devil's trap?!"

"No, of course not," Castiel replied. "The Demon will step into the trap himself."

Dean gaped as the Angel stretched his palm out. "Give me the box," he said.

Still grumbling, Dean handed over the little tin box with his picture, graveyard dirt and a black cat's bone, and watched as Castiel buried it in the centre of the Devil's trap. He hardly straightened up when a Crossroad Demon popped into existence.

Jaw slacked in surprise and eyes bulging in the Angel's directions, she quickly snapped her fingers in hopes of escaping. She blinked once and realizing she was still there, her eyes flashed to the ground. Dean swore he saw Castiel flash a smug smile in his direction as the Demon flailed her arms around effortlessly.

"OK, what the hell is this?!" she growled, her teeth bared.

"We have a bone to pick with you," Dean told her.

"Oh, bite me, Winchester. Let me go and I might consider not killing you," she spat back.

Dean made a face and shrugged, slipping out his flask of Holy water. In a split second, the Demon went from sneering to grimacing horribly and coughing.

"You willing to cooperate now?" Dean asked, eyes daring her to make a snarky retort.

"What do you want?" she snarled, but didn't fight back.

"I'm pretty sure you're aware that something funny is goin' around on your part in your... line of work," Dean explained.

"What?" she replied.

"I'm talking Hell hounds attacking innocent people!" Dean snapped.

A knowing smile spread across her lips. "Oh, _that_."

Dean glared as she went on.

"I heard about those. How many have died now, eleven? And that poor last girl, what was her name, Cathy? She was so excited about getting off early and going on a date. You know, when that Hell hound started tearing her chest open, she screamed and begged for someone to help her. But no one did. By the time you two arrived, her soul was already downstairs, all set to turn into one of us."

"You shut your filthy mouth, bitch," Dean snarled.

"Or what?" she taunted.

"Or I'll stuff you with so much salt you won't even feel your tongue anymore," he threatened.

"Look, I'm not saying anything unless you promise to give me your soul for my troubles," she drawled.

Castiel's Angel blade suddenly zipped out from nowhere and hovered against the Demon's throat.

"You are not in the position to bargain," Castiel told her, his tone dangerously low now. "Tell us what we want to know or else face the consequences."

"All right, listen here, Angel boy-"

Castiel cut her off by pressing the blade into her skin, with just enough force to leave an angry, red cut. She shrieked horribly and attempted to bite Cas' hand off.

"Who is behind this?" Castiel challenged.

"You can kill me now, asshole. If I tell you, he'll do so much worse than that," she responded as Castiel pulled his Angel blade back.

"You know, I'd rather have to deal with him, whoever he is, than a pissed off Angel," Dean told her.

"Screw you, Winchester!"

"Wrong answer," Dean growled. He sprayed more Holy water and watched the foggy fumes escaped from her skin. "Friendly reminder that I've got a trunk full of salt and iron here. I can do this all night."

"Oh, is that supposed to scare me?"

"That's it. I'm forcing salt down your throat."

Dean pulled out his spare supply of salt from his pocket and pried the Demon's mouth open. She began sputtering and clawing at anything she could grab as more smoke spilled out between her lips. And amidst the commotion, amidst the screaming and kicking, one coherent sentence rang out into the cold night air.

_"Crowley, his name is Crowley!"_


	10. Chapter 10

The Impala stood alone in the empty street, waiting for the light to switch green. Dean was her only passenger since Castiel disappeared to take the now Demon-free girl to the nearest hospital. The Angel had reasoned that flying was much quicker than driving, but Dean, being the aviophobe he was, decided that he'd hit the road by himself and head back to the motel.

The reason behind waiting for the green light was unknown to Dean; it was the dead of the night, the road was empty and there were no police cars. But still, he did it anyway, too tired to be reckless at the moment. He liked the sudden lack of movement. Hell, moving was the only thing he'd been doing for the past few days. Always on his feet or driving the car, there was never a moment where he just stood still with only his thoughts for company. He welcomed the change, glad that things had slowed down for just one second.

As the light flickered and the change of colour appeared, Dean applied little force on the gas. There was no rush to get back. Cas could wait a little longer.

It happened as the Impala passed the crossroad. In just the blink of an eye, everything stirred again. One minute, Dean was checking left and right, and the next there was a hand at his throat.

"Gotcha, little worm," a greasy voice drawled from behind.

Luckily, Dean's reflexes were more prepared than his brain had been. The Impala came to a screeching halt as Dean ripped the fingers off of his throat and jumped out of the car. His gun cocked and pointed at his precious Baby's back window, Dean stood his ground.

The man glared from the car's backseat, baring his teeth, and once his eyes flashed black, Dean knew exactly who he was dealing with.

"How about you come out here and fight me, you coward?" he taunted when the Demon made no attempt to move. "Or are you just gonna stay in there like a little bitch?"

Dean didn't usually regret saying stupid shit without thinking, but when the bastard exited the car and five more Demons appeared around Dean, he wondered what it would be like if he didn't constantly put his foot in his mouth. In two seconds flat, his back was drilled into the ground with another pair of hands clenched around his neck.

"Boss'll be happy once we get you off his back," the Demon sneered. "Then we just gotta find that pretty Angel of yours."

The mention of Castiel planted an idea in the Winchester's mind. Still struggling against the claws at his throat, he cleared his mind the best he could and focused.

_Cas, if you're hearing this, then I pray to thou- thee, whatever- to get your feathery ass here and help before I get turned into Demon chow._

And honestly, it was the best he could do for a first prayer.

Dean wasn't sure if he got his message across, but as the air continuously flowed out of his lungs, a glimmer of hope appeared. The grasp on his throat slackened when both he and the Demon turned to stare at the metal tip that suddenly protruded from the latter's chest. The bastard fell to the ground and Dean was met by a pair of blue eyes.

"Dean, are you all right?" the familiar gravelly voice asked.

"Peachy," Dean replied as he sent a knife flying into the throat of an oncoming Demon. "Thanks, Cas."

"What happened?" Castiel questioned, slapping his hand against the first forehead he could reach. The Demon's entire face glowed as he screamed, writhing under the Angel's hold.

"OK. That was awesome," Dean returned.

"Dean! What did you do?"

"Me?! I haven't done anything! They just came out of nowhere!"

Dean turned silent for a moment when one Demon took him by surprise and kicked him in the back of the knee. Hissing in pain, Dean found himself on the ground a second time that night, simultaneously struggling to jab one of his knifes in a soft spot and keep his arm from being ripped off. As he finally felt the knife settle into what he presumed was a thigh, a flash of silver whipped before his eyes.

It only took him a second to realize it was an Angel blade.

Castiel noticed this too because he dropped the body he was holding, grabbed the Demon on top of Dean and skillfully slapped the Angel blade out of his hands in a matter of seconds.

"Where did you get that?" he demanded angrily, eyes burning with fury.

The Demon simply smiled back and shrugged.

Castiel replied by headbutting him (Dean was pretty sure he heard a nose break) and promptly stabbing him with Dean's knife- which had still been stuck in the Demon's leg.

"Remind me to never piss you off," Dean told his partner.

The Angel didn't offer a response and instead took out two more Demons. After Dean finished off another one, the fight was over and Castiel scanned the bodies.

"This isn't good, Dean," Cas said. "Demons do not have Angel blades."

"Yeah, I can figure that one out myself," Dean returned.

Castiel ignored the sarcasm (or simply didn't understand it) and continued urgently, "We have to tell Michael."

Dean grabbed the Angel's shoulders and shook him a little. "Hey, calm down, man. Don't worry, we'll fix it. It's fine."

But Dean should really have learned the meaning of 'speaking too soon'. It wasn't fine, because nothing ever turned out fine for the Winchester.

He turned around just in time to see a Demon, barely even alive, slinking out of the shadows and charging towards Castiel's back. Before Dean could say anything, an Angel blade appears in it's hands, and the Winchester barely managed to yell out as the Demon swiped at Castiel's back. Suddenly, everything turned white. Dean glued his eyes shut and pressed his palms against them, but despite his efforts the light still flared brightly behind his eyelids. Screams pierced the air, tangling with a sharp, incredibly painful ringing that Dean didn't know the source of. It was unbearable; Dean was unsure whether he should keep his hands over his eyes or cover his ears, which he was positive had begun to bleed.

Suddenly, the shrieks died out and the ringing simmered. Silence flooded around him, tense and deathly. Dean opened his eyes.

The Demon's lifeless body lay on the ground, completely washed from any Demonic possession. And just a little to the side was Castiel's crumpled form. His arms were spread out and his black wings framed his tiny figure. Dean staggered towards the Angel, blood stirring in his ears, heart pounding against his chest and a mantra ringing in his head, (Don't be dead, don't be dead, don't be dead.)

He dropped on his knees and gingerly placed his hands on Cas' shoulders.

"Cas?" he whispered hoarsely. "Christ, Cas, get up. Please get up."

Suddenly, the Angel's hand gripped Dean's arm. His eyes burst open and searched Dean's face for any sign of harm, pupils constricted and barely visible against the blue irises. "Dean- You- Are you all right?" Castiel rasped.

"Me?! I'm not the one who was attacked with an Angel blade!" Dean replied.

"Oh, so that's-" A hiss of pain sounded. "-what it was."

Dean was about to make a retort when one of the wings bucked up and slapped him across the face, almost knocking him to the ground. "What the hell, Cas?!" he demanded.

Castiel didn't offer a reply. Instead, his brow creased. And then- "Dean, I can't feel my other wing."

"What?" Dean sobered, eyes flashing over the ebony masses around them.

Castiel tried to move his right wing, but it proved disastrous. He rolled over in pain, panting and whimpering. "The Angel blade cut through it. I think at least five bones are broken and half of the flesh is torn," he groaned.

"Can't- can't you fix it?" Dean asked.

"Broken bones, I usually can. But if the wing is ripped open-" Cas struggled to speak. "I can't. As of right now, both my soul and Grace are completely exposed. I'm powerless."

"We're getting you back to the motel," Dean responded.

* * *

Dean quickly dug around his pocket for his key. Shoving it into the lock, Dean thanked his lucky stars that it was the middle of the night. He was pretty sure that if people caught sight of Cas' blood-stained wings, there would be a lot of questions. And what Castiel really needed right now was a bed.

Dean lightly kicked the door open as he shifted Cas' arm around his shoulder. After hearing it click shut, he made his way towards the closest mattress.

"Cas, I'm putting you down on the bed," Dean said softly.

The Angel, who had gone into a state of trance during the ride back, nodded weakly. The Winchester carefully lay Castiel down on his stomach, making sure both wings had enough room to stretch.

"I'm gonna stitch your wing back up, OK?" Without waiting for a reply, Dean grabbed a needle and a thread from his first aid kit and pulled up a chair beside the broken wing. "I'm guessing regular disinfectant won't work on you. S'there anything I can use to clean the wound?"

"Holy water," Cas answered quietly.

Dean wasted no time in taking the flask out of his breast pocket. He then took off his suit jacket, rolled his sleeves up and got to work.

OK so at first glance, things looked pretty shitty. The flesh was torn and bruised all over, several feathers were missing and the ones that were still in tact hung by a thread, splattered in dried blood. After disinfecting the needle and the wound, Dean slowly began the stitchwork. The minute he touched the wing, he was overwhelmed by emotions. Burning pain and fear vibrated through his body, causing him to gasp suddenly.

"I'm sorry. My wings project my feelings," Castiel told him.

Dean rubbed his hand softly against the hurt wing in attempt to soothe both Castiel's and his own aching. His fingers followed the outline of each feather, careful not to come too close to the cut and possibly agitate Cas more. To his relief, the throbbing gradually died down to a minimum.

Castiel sighed. "Your touch is very pleasant, Dean. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Dean said with a wary chuckle. "Let me patch up your wing first."

As he pulled the needle in and out, Dean was careful to keep as much of his hands on the wings as possible. It kept Castiel's discomfort away and helped him relax. They were at it for at least an hour, mostly because Dean went painfully slow. He had absolutely no experience in sewing wings, and he didn't want to make matters any worse than they already were. He set his speed to Cas'- albeit shallow- breaths. Every time Castiel's breathing quickened, Dean slowed down, worried that he had hurt the Angel. And whenever the gasps returned to a minimum, he would gradually pick up the pace.

When the needle finally reached halfway across the wound, Dean pulled away, throwing his head back and inhaling.

"Dean, I can continue now," Castiel offered as Dean began massaging his wing again.

"You nuts? You gotta relax now. There's no way I'm letting you do this," he said. "I just need a little break." While he ran his knuckle along the top on the wing, he asked, "How's the wing doing? Is it hurting less?"

"It's better. The bones will be easy to mend once you finish," Castiel told him.

Silence surrounded them. Dean focused on the Angel's soft panting again, and tried to keep the rubbing in rhythm with each breath. Castiel's feathers were uncharacteristically cold. With every touch, the Winchester felt his fingers go more and more numb. After removing his hands from the wing, he flexed his digits in order to get some blood circulating in them.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't worrying like a mother hen at the moment. All sorts of terrible scenarios gnawed at his brain; What if the wing was permanently damaged? Would Cas be all right? Could he die from an injury like this?

As if he read his mind (and he probably did), Castiel reached out and softly pressed his hand against Dean's knee.

"I'll be fine," he assured the Winchester. "I have no doubt you'll fix the wing properly. I trust you."

Even in the feeble light the motel lamp offered, Dean was sure Cas caught his flush.

"OK, you ready to go on?" Dean inquired, his throat a little dry.

When Cas nodded, the Winchester picked up the needle and started again. It was easier to focus now. The pain was almost totally gone, and luckily, so was the chill in the feathers. Dean hoped it was because Cas' Grace was returning to him. In another half-hour, Dean pulled the needle through one last time, knotted the thread and bit through it.

"All done, Cas," he announced.

Castiel rolled onto his back tentatively and sat up in his seat. He slung his legs over the edge so he sat right across Dean. After inspecting his wing, he smiled. "Thank you. It's perfect."

Dean reddened again at the praise.

Castiel settled his hands beside him and closed his eyes, his brow furrowed. For a second nothing happened, and Dean wondered whether he should ask Cas about it. But then white light glimmered from underneath the inky feathers, rustling and shaking them, a movement that reminded Dean of rippling water. He sat mesmerized; it looked incredible. The peeking light, twinkling calmly like stars, contrasted sharply with the black colour of the plumules.

Cas' sudden gasp pulled Dean out of his reverie. His eyes flickered to the Angel's figure. Cas' teeth were grit, fingers clutching at the edge of the bed and knuckles paler than the bedsheets. Dean wanted to reach out and steady him, but before he could even move a muscle, the light faded back into the wings just as suddenly as it had appeared. The black limbs dispersed out of sight and Castiel dropped into Dean's chest, clawing at his arms and heaving for breath.

Dean held him tightly and whispered into his hair, "You should get some sleep, Cas."

"Dean," Castiel wheezed pathetically, his voice utterly worn out. "I'm an Angel of the Lord. I don't require sleep-"

The Winchester met Cas' rambling with his palm pressed against the Angel's mouth.

"Get some sleep," Dean repeated firmly.

Castiel frowned up at him, but closed his eyes anyway. The Winchester stayed hovering over him, undoing the trademark blue tie and wriggling the trenchcoat off of the his shoulders.

And as Dean settled down on the other bed, he wondered just when did this guy start meaning so damn much to him.


	11. Chapter 11

Gabriel huffed for the fifth time that evening drumming his fingers against his knee even though Sam asked, hell, _begged_ him to stop ages ago. But Sam couldn't blame him though. The Archangel was physically unable to sit still for more than five minutes lest he grows bored. And the stakeout turning more and more fruitless by the minute only added fuel to the fire.

The two had arrived in New Orleans yesterday, but because of Sam's less than desirable reaction to his first time flying with an Archangel (a blistering headache, nausea and crippling numbness in his entire left leg to name a few) they were forced to retreat to a motel where the Winchester could sleep it off. Gabriel was meant to spend the rest of the evening hunting down the Ricky Demon, but after a halfhearted, forty-minute search, he simply retired for the night and left to a strip club. Needless to say, Sam was beyond ticked off.

So for his punishment, the partners began the search at the crack of dawn and there were to be no breaks until he was found. Eventually, they found him in, surprise, surprise, an abandoned alley, closing up a deal on God knows what. Sam and Gabriel remained hot on his trail the entire day, but couldn't get to closer than 80 feet due to the possibility of Ricky sensing the Archangel's presence and running out on them. They kept a close watch on him, ready for any sort of danger to jump out and try ganking the bastard.

In all honesty, Sam really wished that happened sooner than later. He hated being forced to watch what horrible things the son of a bitch got up to and not be able to stop him. People were getting hurt, and all he could do is stand by idly. It made his blood boil.

And so now, they sat in Sam's car, waiting patiently for Ricky to exit the sleazy club and move on to greener pastures.

Gabriel's sudden whistling broke Sam out of his cloud of thoughts. The Winchester's previously deadpan features were immediately replaced by Bitchface no. 12: _God damn it, Gabriel._

"For the love of all that is good and holy, please let me out of the car! Have mercy, Sammy!" Gabriel cried dramatically.

"Gabriel, we've been tailing the guy the whole day. We're so close now, do you really want to just throw it away like it was for nothing?" Sam asked.

Gabriel replied without hesitation, "Yes!"

Sam's bitchface only strengthened as he said, "Well, too bad."

"You know, I'm torn between being extremely pissed with you and being incredibly aroused," Gabriel told him, a bemused smirk playing on his handsome features.

"Oh, for God's sake, cut it out, Gabe," Sam responded, his voice exhausted.

"Don't use Dad's name in vain, Samsquatch," Gabriel reprimanded him sweetly. When Sam didn't reply, the Archangel pressed on, "Come on! Who spends Valentine's Day on a stakeout, anyway?"

"What- Valentine's Day?" Sam questioned. "What day is it?"

"February 14th, duh," Gabriel answered. "Happy V-Day, Sammy! Want me to kiss you?"

"No, thanks," Sam said, but chuckled.

"Come on, let's blow this joint! Go to a bar, hit on desperate women, maybe get lucky!" The Archangel's grin widened as he elbowed Sam's ribs.

"OK, first off, you're horrible, and second, we can't. We're on a job." Sam felt that most of his conversations with Gabriel made up of the Winchester having to repeat himself over and over until he was blue in the face.

"Fine. I'll just drown my sorrows in heaps of chocolate then," Gabriel mock-huffed.

"You always do that, Gabe."

"Touché, Winchester, touché."

An enormous heart-shaped box of chocolates appeared between the partners. With a snap of his fingers, Gabriel removed the lid (because simply taking it off manually would have been too stressful) and wasted no time in trying one of the different-coloured sweets.

"Ooh, cherry and dark chocolate! I love when I surprise myself," Gabriel said. "Come on, Sammy. Have one. Let's be pathetic, mopey singles together."

Sam grinned in return and picked out a treat coated in what he expected was white chocolate.

_Nougat and caramel,_ he thought, _not bad._

He turned his attention back to the club entrance as Gabriel started humming _Ma Cherie Amour_ by Stevie Wonder.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Gabe."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Sammykins."

* * *

Dean sat motionless at the pathetic piece of plastic the motel tried to shrug off as a table. Two of it's legs were different sizes, so every time he leaned over the thing would wobble like a fucking earthquake suddenly appeared out of nowhere. And as if the table wasn't bad enough, the chair he had slouched on also did little to live up to it's purpose. Dean was pretty sure that with one wrong move, the piece of shit would collapse to the ground. It had already creaked dangerously when he first sat down; now it just felt as if he was treading on thin ice. He held his breath every time his ass had to shift. Oh, yeah, another great thing about this miraculous garbage was that it was so fucking uncomfortable he could actually _hear_ his ass muscles cry out in pain each time he attempted to change to a more pleasant position.

Honestly, the only reason Dean actually settled for this accommodation was because it offered the best view of Castiel's bed. And yeah, OK, his own mattress practically provided front row seats to the Angel, but Dean felt that the table was a better option. It wasn't too far away, but it also wasn't close enough to make his blatant staring creepy.

Sure, one would reason that Dean Winchester's leering was indeed creepy, but the agent would flat out deny such accusations, because he was really only looking out for his partner. Cas hadn't woken up since Dean had stitched his wing up, and he was simply worried about the Angel's well-being. He knew for a fact that Angels were all-powerful, self-sustaining, damn-near-impossible-to-kill sons of bitches. So the reality that Castiel wasn't up yet really ruffled Dean's feathers (no pun intended).

Yet somehow, in the farthest part of Dean's brain, it wasn't just the worrying that caused him to watch over the Angel 24/7. Dean sort of _enjoyed_ the view. He wasn't one to focus on male beauty, but with Cas it just kind of came by itself. His dark, ever-ruffled hair contrasted sharply with his pale skin, and his pink, full lips were nothing if not a constant distraction- Dean should know, he actually caught himself staring on more than one occasion. And those goddamn eyes... If there was a sky with such a clear, blue hue, Dean had yet to see it. And even then, he'd still probably shake his head and say, "Nah, Cas' colour is better."

And if one would hear Dean Winchester admit to any of this, one would think his feelings towards his partner were a little more than platonic. To which Dean would reply with a slackened jaw, an indignant rebuke and a hint of a blush.

Which is altogether crazy because Dean Winchester does _not_ blush, thank you very much. And he certainly does not have romantic feelings for the Angel currently passed out on the bed and drooling into the pillows.

Aware that his thoughts had taken a very awkward turn, Dean chose to focus on the problem at hand; Crowley. Determined to find the bastard, Dean went over every piece of info they got on him the previous night, before things had taken a turn for the worse.

_Dean pulled away roughly when he heard it. "Crowley?" he repeated, unsure whether he heard it right._

_The Demon nodded weakly as she wiped the salt off her chin. "Yeah. Short, chubby, black hair." Then she asked with her brow furrowed, "You've never heard of him?"_

_"How about you fill us in on what we have to know?" Dean suggested._

_"I can't, he'll kill me," she stressed. "Hasn't your thick skull comprehended that yet?"_

_Dean shook the can of salt as a reminder to her disposition._

_Her sigh was tired, and she continued, "We call him the King of the Crossroads. He's one of the most dangerous Demons out there. He makes deals, sure, but he's got his goons to dirty their hands for him when it gets sticky."_

_"What about the deaths at_ REE? _" Dean asked._

_"Word on the street is he's behind it, but I don't know what's his angle."_

_"Bull."_

_"I swear, I have no idea why he's doing it!"_

_Dean glanced at Castiel for support._

_"Is that all you have to say?" Cas asked._

_"That's all I know," she insisted._

_Castiel nodded solemnly, and before Dean knew it, the Angel was murmuring in Latin._

The call of his name brought Dean out of his thoughts.

"Dean!"

The Winchester brought his gaze to the occupied bed, happy to see it's resident alive and conscious.

"Cas, you're up." Dean didn't bother hiding his relief. "You feelin' better?"

"Yes," the Angel replied, massaging his shoulder. "How long have I been asleep?"

After consulting his watch, Dean answered, "Fifteen hours, give or take."

Castiel rose to his feet, grimacing as he stood shakily. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to set us back like this." He sighed. "How do we stand with the case?"

"Well, things suck at the moment," Dean said honestly. "But that's OK, 'cause you're not goin' out anyway."

Castiel stiffened. "Excuse me?"

"You're grounded, Cas," Dean rephrased. "At least until your wing heals properly."

"My wing is fine-"

"So that little wince I saw had nothing to do with it?" Dean returned. "Christ, Cas, you can barely stand! Now sit your ass down on the bed and stay put. You're no good to me dead, man."

For a moment, it seemed that Castiel was going to oppose, but when he heard him heave a defeated sigh, Dean knew he had won. The creak from the mattress that followed only proved him right.

"Good. Now, I've asked Charlie to e-mail me anything we've got on Crowley," Dean explained and he stepped towards Cas' bed. "But so far, we have little to go on."

Castiel took the printed copies from Dean and examined them. Dean would later deny any tingling sensations that may have occurred when their hands brushed.

"You ever heard of this dude?" Dean questioned. He sat down on his own bed, opposite Castiel's, their knees centimetres apart.

"I have, once," Castiel responded, reading through each page carefully. "But it was from a case my friend Balthazar was given centuries ago, back when he still served the Heavenly Host. It was similar to this one; no leads, no connections, nothing to follow. There was a rumour about a Demon named Crowley having something to do with the killings. He was thought to be a Crossroad Demon however."

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"The case was solved, but Crowley wasn't found nor mentioned again," Castiel said simply. "This is the first time I've heard his name since."

Of course, Dean was halfheartedly paying attention by now, having gotten sidetracked by Cas' mouth yet again because he was an idiot like that. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about what the Angel's lips felt like against his own. But that wasn't an excuse for the epically stupid thing he did next.

Throwing all caution in the wind, Dean scooted closer to the edge of his bed, placed his hand on the nape of Cas' neck, gently pulled the Angel forward and planted one on him.

Needless to say, Castiel stood still like a statue, having absolutely no idea what Dean meant with this strange behaviour. Kissing was a way of showing one's love to another, wasn't it?

Dean finally pulled back after a minute, still savoring the texture of Castiel's full, chapped lips. His eyes widened however, when he took in the sight before him.

"Cas," he breathed. "Wings."

Castiel blinked once before checking his back. "Yes, those are my wings," he replied tentatively, as if Dean had gone insane.

"What are your-"

Dean never got to finish his question however, because Castiel evidently had enough of talking and simply pressed his mouth over the Winchester's again. Pulling the Angel up and into his lap, Dean decided that he really didn't care anymore.


	12. Chapter 12

The only reason Dean woke up early the next morning was because he forgot to shut the shades the night before. Rubbing his eyes and groaning at the intrusion, he rolled over so his back faced the window, but was met by two startling blue eyes.

"Cas," Dean breathed. "You're still here." It came out more as a statement than a question.

"Yes. I thought you'd prefer it if I was present when you woke," Castiel replied.

Dean's eyes trailed away from Castiel's lips and flicked around his blanket-clad frame. His hair was disheveled as ever (although Dean was sure that was his fault, seeing as he kept tugging at it all night long), and light bruises had formed on his lips and torso where Dean had left countless hickeys. He was the epitome of gorgeousness. The Winchester could barely stop himself from reaching out and kissing him senseless all over again.

Dean suddenly noticed that Castiel was smiling. He furrowed his brow and asked, "Cas? You OK?"

"Yes. I just find you very interesting," Cas said. "Humans in general are."

"Oh, yeah? How so?" Dean questioned.

"Humans have a need to hold, to feel physically. You understand feelings through contact, such as embraces, physical violence and kissing," Cas explained. "Angels are different. We can perceive each other's thoughts with our Grace. We can see into our souls and clearly grasp our emotions. Humans can't see emotions that way because they can't see souls."

" 'Cause we don't have a Grace," Dean concluded.

Castiel nodded in response and continued. "One way of seeing another's soul is through their eyes." A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "It's true when they say that the eyes are the windows into the soul. I can see yours right now, Dean," he murmured. "It's very beautiful."

Dean did anything other than flush at Cas' words.

"Of course, you can't see an Angel's soul through their eyes. Most choose not to physically show any feelings. It's similar to a defense mechanism. It keeps us protected," Castiel explained.

Dean had been staring into Castiel's eyes the entire time he was talking, and he couldn't help but notice that emotions were simply pouring out of those God damn baby blues. Cas looked happy, curious, calm and excited all at the same time. Dean wasn't sure if Castiel knew about it or was doing it unintentionally.

"I'm aware that I'm letting you look into my soul, Dean. I don't think there is any harm in... letting my walls down, as you say, when I'm with you," Castiel returned.

There was no denying that Dean turned scarlet this time. "You've gotta stop reading my mind."

"I'm sorry," Castiel answered, although he looked anything but sorry.

"Come on, what's the other way you can see into someone's soul?" Dean wanted to know.

Castiel suddenly looked apprehensive about answering. "The other doesn't work with humans. Only Angels."

Dean sat up in interest. "OK, now you _gotta_ tell me."

Castiel looked straight into Dean's eyes as he spoke. "Through our wings, Dean. Our wings are essentially a part of our soul. When an Angel's wings are exposed, you can see every thought, every sentiment they carry at the moment. Angels are most vulnerable then, unless they stay on their guard. That is why we usually keep our wings hidden. There are only two times Angels fully manifest their wings and not just cast shadows of them. One is when they are in battle. An Angel uses them to project their anger and ferocity in hopes of scaring the opponent. The other... is when they pursue a possible mate."

"So, when you showed your wings last night," Dean said slowly. "What were you saying?"

Castiel's lips slightly parted but no sound came out, as if he was hesitant to reply. "I told you that I love you, Dean, and that I'm willing to be with you," he said softly.

Dean's heart clenched in his chest. Cas' eyes were so soft, so sincere as he spoke. They were filled with- there was no other word for it- love. And so Dean responded the only way he could. He placed one hand on the nape of Cas' neck and the other around his waist, pulled the Angel into his chest and pressed their lips together. He kissed him desperately and fervently to show Cas just how much he meant to him. He'd always been shitty with words, so he focused on putting all his feelings into the kiss, making sure that Castiel knew exactly what he wanted to say. Dean pulled back after a while, resting his forehead against the Angel's and looking into his eyes. Apparently, Cas got the message because he looked completely overwhelmed and amazed.

"I love you too, Cas," Dean murmured.

Something inexplicably soft grazed his back and Dean looked over his shoulder. His jaw slacked at the sight of Castiel's newly manifested wings. They were even more beautiful now, shimmering and shivering slightly in the hazy, morning sunlight. Dean reached out over his head and softly ran his fingers over the inky flight feathers. He carded through the primaries and the secondaries, and finally moved deeper to the contour feathers. Castiel seemed to enjoy this gesture greatly, burying his face in between Dean's neck and shoulder, and actually (purring) into the other's ear. The Angel pulled his wing closer which allowed Dean better access. After he finished with the contours, the Winchester brought both hands to Castiel's back and searched for the junctions where the wings connected to the vessel. That area turned out to be the most sensitive. Dean barely placed a finger on the joint and already the wing began twitching.

"Should I not touch that?" Dean asked, glancing down at Castiel.

"You can, but be careful. The joints are very delicate," Cas mumbled against his skin.

Dean cautiously wrapped his thumb and index finger around each link and rubbed softly. "This OK?"

The moan he induced from Castiel was answer enough. Now a little more confident, Dean added the rest of his fingers, massaging and pressing carefully at the intersections. The Angel gasped when he reached a particularly tender spot, and another whimper vibrated against Dean's neck as he pushed a little harder. Dean smiled, dropping a kiss into Castiel's hair. He rolled his fingers once more before splaying his hands out on either side of the connections, and held Cas close to his chest as the Angel's purrs died out. Cas' face resurfaced and Dean took the chance to lazily kiss him once more.

"Come on. We gotta get dressed," Dean mumbled. "Gotta find that Crowley bastard."

Suddenly, the wings flickered out of sight and the warmth disappeared along with them. Sighing, Dean flipped his legs off the bed and bent down to pick his boxers up from the ground. By the time he straightened, Castiel was already dressed and ready by the door.

* * *

"Let's go, Moosechester. Up and at 'em."

Sam bolted up in his seat, trying his best to regain alertness. Blinking away any remaining sleep, the Winchester quickly realized he was still in the car.

"Did- Did I fall asleep?" he asked the Archangel.

"Sure did, Sammykins," Gabriel replied, not taking his eyes off of the candy bar in his hand. "And before you ask, no, I didn't cop a feel while you were out."

"Oh, God." Sam groaned, whether because of his lack of sleep or the unwanted images Gabriel's more-than-uneccessary comment produced in his sleepy brain.

"Lighten up, Sammy. You're no fun grumpy," Gabe returned.

"What happened? Did I miss something?" Sam asked.

"Nah. I was bored and I wanted company," the other replied truthfully.

The trademark bitchface was back in place, and Sam knew this must have been some sort of record; even Dean never managed to provoke one this early in the morning.

"Oh, and also, Ricky's supposed to come out any moment now," he added.

"He _still_ hasn't left the club?" Sam asked incredulously.

Gabe snorted. "Yeah. Talk about a party animal."

"How do you know when he's leaving?"

"Well, while you had your beauty sleep, I may or may not have tapped into one of the people going in," the Archangel explained. "You should see the dancers in there, Sammy-"

"Gabe!" Sam interrupted, actually receiving a startled look from his partner. "Point?"

"Someone's an unhappy bunny," Gabriel mumbled before continuing, "I managed to get close enough to the table Ricky was sitting at. The music was a pain, but I'm like, eighty percent sure he said something about having to be somewhere at eight the next morning."

"OK, I don't usually approve of using innocent bystanders like that," Sam told him, "but good job, Gabe."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," the Archangel responded, but his smile was genuine. "So, we got a plan, Samsquatch?"

Sam glanced up and down the street, assessing the situation. "We'll have to get out of the car, I think. There's not enough cars on the road, we'll look suspicious driving less than one mile per hour," he answered. "We're gonna follow him on foot."

"Awesome," Gabriel returned. "Never thought I'd say that, but I think I've lost feeling in both legs. It'll be nice to stretch them a little."

"Gabriel, if whatever we're hunting decides to show up today," Sam started, "what are we gonna do? We don't even know what the hell it is, man."

"Well, you're right there, Sammykins," Gabriel agreed. "But you forget, we have something it doesn't."

"What?"

Gabe scowled and gestured at his own face. "Archangel, duh."

Sam chuckled, nodding. Gabriel flashed a Cheshire cat grin in return and checked on the club entrance.

"Shit. Sam, he's on the move," he suddenly called and reached for the door handle.

Sam followed his example, and the two found themselves casually waltzing across the street- well, Gabriel was waltzing, Sam was making sure he didn't get run over by the oncoming truck.

"Will you watch where you're going?" Sam hissed once they crossed the road.

"Once again, Archangel," Gabe countered. "Gonna take more than a truck to get rid of me."

Sam frowned at his partner's cockiness as Gabriel lead on. They followed Ricky past dozens of shops, across a few streets and into a couple of narrow alleys. The Demon turned left into small lane which Sam vaguely recognized as the former's place of residence.

Gabriel stuck out one hand, stopping Sam from walking further, and brought the other to his lips. With a curt nod, the Archangel pressed up against one of the nearer garbage dumpsters and peeked over the top.

"You're enjoying this too much," Sam muttered as quietly as he could.

"Oh, shush. What's the point of being a federal agent if you don't get to have fun with it?" came the whispered reply.

The two watched Ricky simultaneously fish out his keys and finish up a phone call he answered on the way.

"That's great, Brady," the Demon spoke. "I'll see you tonight then."

As he returned his phone into his pocket, two things happened in the blink of an eye. Really, Sam literally blinked and there was a sudden change of environment. A stranger unexpectedly appeared into the small lane and Ricky cocked a gun to his forehead in a flash.

"Oh, come now, Ricky. You know that won't do any harm to me."

The new man's back was turned to the partners, but Sam could still hear him speak in a distinct British accent. He risked a better look at the man and lifted his chin slightly, all the while listening to what was transpiring in front of him.

"What do you want?" Ricky demanded, teeth bared.

"Really Ricky, you of all people shouldn't be surprised I'm here," the other said to him. "I've recently become aware of your little... escapades, so to say."

"Oh, yeah?" Ricky spat, gun never leaving it's position. "Well, _I'm_ aware that that is none of your fucking business."

"Are you now?" he drawled. "Just like you're _aware_ that there are two federal agents hiding right behind your dumpsters? And just like you're _aware_ that one of them is a bloody _Archangel?_ "

Sam heard Gabriel utter a small, "Shit."

Sam wasn't sure which happened first; Ricky turning his gun on the green dumpster or Gabriel standing up, Angel blade at the ready (and pulling Sam up along with him). But he did know that the stranger swiftly pulled out an Angel blade and sunk it into Ricky's gut first.

Ricky's features began crackling, like a fire was started inside of his body. He gaped at the man in front of him, hands frantically trying to pull out the blade in his stomach.

"I'll see you in hell," the nameless man said to him with a smile.

Gabriel thrust his Angel blade at the culprit, but it was too late. He had already disappeared. Sam rushed to Ricky's side.

"Who was that?!" he demanded, shaking the lifeless body. "What was his name?!"

But the Demon made no reply.

Gabriel gingerly picked up his blade and set it away. He growled in frustration, his shoulder slumping. "Back to square one."


	13. Chapter 13

Sam felt like ripping his hair out. And for once, Gabriel did nothing to cause this reaction.

They were so close, _so damn close_ to killing the son of a bitch and going home. Now he's in the wind, and _now_ they have to start over. And to think Sam expected to pop in to see his parents this weekend.

A shadow appeared over the motel table Sam was currently hunched over, surfing the Internet for any signs of another attack.

"You, Sammykins, have got to cool down a little," his celestial partner told him, his tone teasing. "Seriously, soon you'll have steam coming out of your ears, and then there's no stopping me from calling you Thomas the tank engine."

Sam felt a grin pass his lips for the first time that day.

"That's better," Gabriel returned, obviously pleased with himself.

"How do you manage to stay so damn happy all the time?" Sam asked, chuckling.

"It comes with being Heaven's funniest Angel," Gabriel replied, feigning nonchalance. "It's a gift and a curse, really."

"Who made you funniest Angel?" Sam joked.

The Archangel snorted. "Please, I'm so the funniest Angel."

"I don't know. Balthazar could give you a run for your money," Sam returned.

"Hey, I taught Balthazar the _meaning_ of funny," Gabriel insisted.

The two laughed for a while, and it was nice. Sam felt all the previous tension fade away and it was exactly what he needed.

"Look, go sleep it off for a few hours." the Archangel suggested after the chuckles died down. "I'll call Balthazar and ask him to snoop around a little. Dad knows how many connections that guy's got. He's bound to find something."

"Where are _you_ going?" Sam asked once he realized Gabriel was headed for the door.

"I'm going down to the pizza joint they got here. Want me to bring up anything special?" the Archangel offered.

Sam momentarily remembered how Dean would demand simply and plainly, "Pie!"

But in stead, he replied, "Nah, I'm good. Thanks, Gabe."

"Don't mention it, Moosechester." With a chuckle and a two finger salute, Gabriel was out the door.

Sam, taking Gabriel's for once useful advice, stalked over to the closest bed and collapsed on top of the sheets. The thought of Dean stayed firmly planted in the younger Winchester's mind. What was Dean up to, right now? Sam remembered the promise he made to himself; to call his brother the moment he had a minute to spare.

And well, seeing as he and Gabriel weren't going anywhere until they planned their next move, Sam figured now would be as good a time as any.

The Winchester pulled out his phone from his trouser pocket, selected his brother's number and waited.

* * *

After a day of thoroughly combing through every single file the Bureau had on Crowley and promptly coming up with a big fat zero, Dean was more than happy to slump onto the couch with a nice cold beer in his hand.

OK, so the day had been pretty shitty. Cas and Dean read everything Charlie had sent twice, checked the Internet for more details, looked up some cases he was rumoured to be behind and even brushed up on a couple of them that Crowley might not have even been part of. But all the pain was so worth it whenever Dean got Castiel to stutter because of their knees brushing under the table. And it especially paid off when Cas blushed like crazy right after Dean unsuspectingly kissed him.

But now, the agent was completely drained and wanted nothing more than to watch some crappy TV. And he would have gotten his wish, if his damn phone didn't go off the minute he sat down.

Dean groaned and contemplated whether or not he should actually pick up. But whoever was calling was incredibly persistent, and by the fifth ring Dean couldn't take it anymore, and picked up.

"This better be important," he answered grouchily.

"Well, hey to you too," came his brother's snarky reply.

All indications of Dean's annoyance melted away. "Sammy, hey. Is everything OK?" he asked.

"Ugh, don't even ask." Sam moaned.

Soon enough, the two brothers began chatting like old times. They talked about anything that came to mind, jokes, funny experiences and even filled each other in on their cases.

"You were actually planning on driving from Nevada to Louisiana?" Dean laughed. "That's insane."

"Well, look who's talking," Sam returned. "Tell me right now that you would rather fly to New Orleans than drive a day and a half."

Dean stayed quiet, admitting his defeat. "Fine, you got me, Sammy," he said with a chuckle.

He heard his little brother burst into laughter on the other line before continuing, "So, how are things with you? You getting along with Castiel?"

_That's one way of putting it,_ Dean mused.

"Yeah. He's all right. Little strange at first, but you get used to him," he replied simply.

"Hey, at least he doesn't turn everything you say into an innuendo," Sam joked.

Dean forced a laugh and racked his brain for a different subject. "So uh, what are you and Gabriel doing next?" he asked in hopes of getting Sam's mind off of Cas.

Lucky for him, it worked like a charm.

"I've got no idea, man. Gabe said he'd call a friend for help, but I don't know what good it'll do. You'd be surprised how many Demon mafias there are in the country," Sam told him.

"No kidding," Dean went along with it.

"Yeah. I'll make sure to tell Bobby, maybe get a couple of agents on it." It seemed that Sam was simply talking to himself now. "What about you? Any idea what your next move is?"

"Nope," Dean said, popping his lips. "The bastard's smart, I'll give him that."

Sam sighed. "I know what you mean. We're hunting something that has a freakin' Angel blade. And up until now, we thought that only Angels have those. I'm really curious about how he got his hands on one-"

The rest of Sam's sentence didn't come out because Dean suddenly yelped, interrupting his brother.

"Dean? You OK-"

"Did you say Angel blade?" Dean demanded urgently.

"You're not making any sense now-"

"Damn it Sammy, did you say something that's not an Angel had a fucking Angel blade?"

Dean was sure his brother was pulling a bitchface. "Yes, Dean. But I have no idea why you're freaking out about this. It's weird, sure, but Gabe says it's possible someone stole it-"

"Sam, the dude you saw in the lane when you were tailing that Ricky guy," Dean said slowly. "What did he look like?"

He heard Sam sigh, as if wondering if his brother's sanity had finally snapped. "Well, he was short. It could just be me though, everyone looks short to me."

"OK, short. What else?" Dean persisted.

"Uh, kinda chubby, I guess. I mean, I'm not really sure. He wore a pretty big coat so I could be wrong." Sam went quiet as he tried to think of anything else. "He had black hair. Well, he was sorta bald, I think. I didn't get a really good look, it was over pretty fast."

"Sam," Dean hissed. "Was the dude a Demon?"

Sam stayed silent for a second. "You know, he might be! He seemed to know Ricky relatively well- Holy shit," he spluttered when he realized. "Dean, Gabe and I hunting a Demon!"

"Yeah, not only that," Dean answered. "Sam, we're hunting the same Demon."

And from the way Sam turned speechless, Dean knew he was right.


	14. Chapter 14

The evening was black and freezing, and although Dean cursed himself for not bringing a jacket, at least he didn't have to worry about the conditions being less than perfect. They were surrounded (well, most of the time) by complete silence, totally alone. Cars generally passed over the highway bridge rather than _beneath_ it, so it was good to know for certain that no one would be interrupting them. And even if someone fancied a walk on the otherwise empty passage underneath the bridge, they didn't have to worry about it; the temperature was well below freezing point. No one in their right mind would even be outside, least of all taking a stroll under a bridge at midnight.

Dean huffed, expelling a cloud of steam from his lips. There was a distant sound of a car whipping past overhead, down the highway and out of the state. The agent glanced up, noticing just how low the ceiling actually was and briefly wondering if it could possibly collapse on top of them. He reasoned that even if it didn't fall and crush them, the chances of surviving the night were still pretty slim.

A groan sounded from the back of the Winchester's throat. He really didn't want to die tonight. Things were going good with Cas (well, as good as things can get when the person you're romantically involved with is your partner, and oh yeah, also an Angel of the Lord) and he'd hate to miss out on it just because said Angel had another great idea to get them killed.

"Cas, remember how I said summoning that Demon was the stupidest thing I'd ever done?" Dean said.

"Yes," Castiel replied.

"Well, this is stupider."

"Of course."

Dean rounded on the Angel. "I'm serious, Cas! Summoning a Crossroad Demon is one thing, but summoning the fucking King is a completely new level of insane!"

"I'm aware the plan is flawed," Castiel agreed. "But we don't have any better ideas. Unless you've been holding out on me."

Dean smirked. "Oh, you _know_ I haven't."

Castiel, for once, seemed to get the innuendo. "That is not what I meant," he replied, blush barely visible in the darkness.

Dean's grin only widened and he inhaled deeply. "How do we know for certain that Crowley's gonna be the one answering the summoning?" he asked.

"We don't, but it's a logical conclusion. As King of the Crossroads, it's highly possible that Crowley knows who is behind every summoning. He also knows that we're after him, that is a fact," Castiel explained. "Once he realizes we're attempting to call another Demon, he might think we're trying to capture it again and interrogate it. Hence, he will answer the summoning and fall right into our trap."

"OK, that's a great theory," Dean responded. "But that's what it is; a theory. The odds are that this is gonna blow up in our faces."

"I don't tend to rely on odds," Castiel answered.

Dean snorted. "OK, fine, Han Solo."

"I don't understand that reference."

"I know."

And just like they did last time, Castiel buried the small metal box in the middle of the Devil's trap. They waited.

Nothing.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, the words, "I told you so," ready on his tongue, but they were suddenly interrupted.

"Did you idiots really think I'd be stupid enough to fall for that trick?" a taunting voice called from behind them.

Dean and Castiel spun around to see a small man, dressed in a flawlessly-tailored black suit and polished shoes, stand proudly in front of them, his posture calm and gentlemanly.

"Well, I didn't think it would work, but you've proved me wrong," Dean replied, smugness evident.

The cocky grin dissolved from the man's features and his brow furrowed. "What the hell are you on about, Winchester."

Dean pointed above him. "Look up, bitch."

The partners followed Crowley's gaze as the Demon's eyes landed on the enormous Devil's trap painted onto the underside of the bridge.

"You have no idea how long it took us to paint that thing," Dean drawled.

Crowley's head snapped back and he glowered at the two. "Release me right now you muttonheads, or else you'll be wishing you're dead by the time I'm finished with you."

"Oh, sure, threaten us. Not like you're not trapped or anything," Dean challenged.

Crowley crossed his arms in a way not unlike a petulant child. "What do you want?"

"I think you already know," Castiel replied.

"I'm assuming you're referring to the Dick Roman fiasco?" Crowley said.

Cas looked at him pointedly. "Precisely."

Crowley's glare strengthened before rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. "All right, I admit it," he drawled. "I was summoned by eleven of his workers- Oh, what was it, ten years ago? Anyway, they asked for the usual. Good job, lots of money, a beautiful partner. And who was I to say no? So I granted them their wishes. And now I've come to collect, fair and square."

"But you see, the thing is," Dean snapped. "We checked those people's files, from the day they died all the way to the last ten years. There were no indications that _any_ of them made deals. None. Not so much as winning the lottery." He stepped closer to the Demon. "So spill. What the fuck is _actually_ goin' on here, Crowley?"

Crowley's glower was back in full force. "You think you can talk to me like that, you hairless ape?"

"Crowley." Cas' tone was low and dangerous. "Tell us the truth."

For a moment, it seemed that Crowley was going to retaliate with more snide remarks. But in stead, he huffed through his nose and replied, "I payed a visit to dear old Dick a few weeks back. I offered him a partnership, told him we could achieve many things together. I promised there would be no strings attached, just doing a few favours for one another every now and again. And what do I get for my generous offer? A witty remark and shove out the door."

Dean blinked. "So all of this was just a big revenge plan?" he asked.

"You make it sound so juvenile, Winchester," Crowley retorted. "I was merely showing him what a mistake he made when he declared himself my enemy." His eyes shifted from Dean to Cas, then back to Dean again. "Are we done here?"

"Not quite." A new voice sounded.

The three men turned to their right, and from around the corner appeared Sam and Gabriel.

"Thank the Lord," Dean muttered. "Where the hell have you two been?"

Sam ignored his brother and stopped right in front of the Devil's trap. "I don't think you've told them everything they need to know," he told the Demon.

The look on Crowley's face was priceless; he was torn between rage, confusion and bemusement. "Well, if it isn't Winchester no. 2," he replied.

"C'mon, cut to the chase so we can go home," Gabriel groaned.

"You've had your fingers in quite a lot of pies, haven't you?" Sam asked. "Tell me, why exactly have you been killing all those Demons?"

"Not that we're not grateful. You've saved us a lot of trouble," Gabriel added.

"Gabriel!" Castiel reprimanded his sibling.

Dean had to hand it to Crowley, the man knew when he had been defeated. He simply put his hands in his pockets and smirked. "This one is childishly simple to understand. I'm surprised you haven't got it," the Demon teased. "Those blokes have been giving me trouble for years. Always going on about who's going to be the new king of Hell, why one would be better than the other, blah, blah, blah. You know the story."

Sam nodded to prompt him.

"Well, I simply had enough of it. It was evident none of those worms were possibly fit to rule. So I began eliminating my competition. I would have done it, if you haven't meddled," he said.

"Wait, did you just reference Scooby-Doo?" Dean asked.

All eyes fell on the agent.

"Really, Winchester. You've got no sense of timing whatsoever," Crowley returned.

No one spoke for a moment, each seemingly lost in his own thoughts, until:

"OK, now can we go home?"


	15. Chapter 15

Dean and Sam Winchester sat beside each other in the Bureau's waiting hall, relaxing after what both would later acknowledge as 'the fucking worst case ever'. Bruised and scratched, but not more than the standard, completely worn out in body and brain alike, the Winchester brothers were ready for a well-deserved break.

"Man, when I get home, I'm sleeping for like, 50 years minimum," Dean mused. "And I'll eat a bunch of mom's pies."

"Ditto," Sam replied with a chuckle. "Hey, Dean?"

"What's up, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"We'll be OK like this, right?" the other said tentatively.

The elder sat up a little. "What do you mean?"

"Bobby will probably keep us partnered up like this," his brother explained.

"He better. I like having someone around who doesn't criticize my music taste," Dean teased.

Sam grinned. "You sure it'll be good?"

"Now don't get teary-eyed, Samantha. I'm sure Gabriel and Cas will have some sort of Heavenly business to attend to once in a while. Then you'll get saddled with me again, I promise," he answered.

"Whatever. You can't take anything seriously," Sam responded, but the smile on his face let Dean know he wasn't really mad.

They stayed silent after that, until Castiel and Gabriel appeared.

"Hey, you sorted everything out?" Sam asked.

"Yes. Crowley was questioned again by Michael. Everything he told him added up," Cas replied.

"So what's gonna happen to him?" Sam asked.

"Can we exorcise the son of a bitch?" Dean suggested.

"No, exorcising him will only take him to Hell," Castiel answered. "Crowley's clever. He's bound to find a way out. We're keeping him locked in Hell until further discussion."

"Ooh, can we put him with Lu? He'll love the company." Gabriel smirked.

"No doubt that would be a suitable punishment," Castiel said with a wry smile.

The four said nothing for a moment until Gabriel broke the silence, as usual.

"OK. Now that this whirlwind of crap has finished, I say we go down to a bar, get some beers," he suggested. "I'm having a really weird craving for cake. Maybe we should get some of that too."

"Nah, you can take Sammy. I think I'm just gonna go home," Dean replied and glanced at Castiel for the briefest of moments.

"Suit yourself, Deano. Sammy, Cas, you in?" Gabe asked, his hands wrapped together with only his index fingers sticking out.

"You know as well as I do that I'll do no such thing," Castiel answered his brother.

Gabriel turned his fingers on Sam.

"Sure, I'll come along," he said with a shrug.

"Excellent. OK, we first go-"

The Archangel's musings were cut short when Director Singer appeared from his office.

"What are ya idjits standing around here for?" Bobby Singer's voice rang across the hall. "You think the case is solved? That you can dilly-dally all you want now? Case ain't solved until paperwork's filled out and stashed away!"

"No, Sammy! Not the paperwork!" Gabriel clutched the lapels of Sam's suit jacket.

Sam could only pitifully smile back.

* * *

Dean flopped onto his back with his arms stretched out, body sweaty and exhausted. He managed to summon enough strenght to roll his head into his pillow, finally ready get some sleep. The naked Angel beside him however, did not share the same opinion.

Dean groaned as Castiel dropped on the former's stomach and straddled his hips. "Cas, I need sleep." Dean sounded like a pathetic, whiny baby, but he was too tired to care. "Bobby wants me at his office bright and early tomorrow."

Cas halfheartedly payed attention, currently busy trailing kisses down Dean's jaw. Dean sighed, closing his eyes and coiling an arm around Castiel's waist, the other aimlessly sweeping up and down Cas' thigh. Maybe he could let the Angel continue for just five more minutes. He felt silky wings wrap around him and enclose the two of them into a soft, warm cocoon. The small contour feathers tickled Dean's nose so much that he had to stifle chuckles into Cas' neck. His hand found it's way into the inky masses and ran down along the feathers in steady flows.

"Cas," Dean couldn't help but ask as he kneaded his fingers into the wings, "you're staying, right?"

"I don't understand. In your bed?" the Angel replied.

Dean chuckled. "No, in the Human-Angel Cooperation Initiative thing. You still down with that or are you goin' back upstairs after this?" His voice sounded so small, so unlike him, and he hated it.

Castiel finally met Dean's eyes when he pulled away from his exposed neck. "I'm staying for as long as you'll have me," he answered.

Dean couldn't stop himself from melting into a cheesy grin. In all honesty, he had no idea how this was going to work out. Romantic relationships between partners was strictly forbidden in the Bureau. And he was pretty sure that they were forbidden altogether for Angels. Dean knew that Sam was going to freak, and he didn't even want to think about what Bobby was going to say. Michael was definitely going to smite him. But as he lay there, drowning in Castiel's warm, blue gaze, Dean found himself not really caring.

Castiel finally lowered his head again, his lips remaining above the Winchester's. "Now go to sleep, Dean," the Angel murmured.

Dean felt a cloudy sensation wash over him as Cas' lips brushed against his own. His thoughts grew blurred, and before he could reciprocate the kiss, his brain shut down. His head lolled into the pillow, his lips parted, the Angel's name still lingering on his tongue.


	16. Chapter 16

Bobby Singer sat at his oak desk, reading through the newest case summaries and checking the daily reviews. He was finishing up his second donut (Rufus was kind enough to bring in a fresh batch from the bakery across the street) and enjoying a nice cup of hot chocolate. No one said that being the Director of the FBI's Supernatural Occurrences branch was going to be easy, but sometimes there just came a day where nothing major happened, no one threatened the human race and none of his agents were being idjits.

A knock sounded from his door, and he replied with a small grunt and a brief, "Come on in!"

The door opened and in came a familiar figure. "Hello, Director Singer."

"Michael, what can I do for ya?" Bobby asked as he gestured for the Archangel to come closer.

"I'm here to speak to Dean Winchester," Michael answered. "I was wondering if you knew where he was."

"Both Agents Sam and Dean Winchester have been given leave of two weeks, and I'm not currently tracking their whereabouts. S'there any way I can help?" Bobby offered.

"Maybe," Michael said and he took a seat. "Director, the Bureau has a strict no-dating policy between agents, is that right?" he asked.

"It doesn't approve of romantic relationships between partners," Bobby confirmed.

"I see." Michael nodded. "What do you usually do if two partners are romantically involved?"

"Well, not much we can do. We give them a slap upside the head and assign them new partners," he replied, only half-joking.

"And what would you do if I asked you to allow just one relationship?"

Bobby stopped midsip and looked at the Archangel. "Is there something you're tryin'a tell me, Michael?"

"Director Singer, I have strong suspicions that Dean Winchester and Castiel are involved," Michael told him. "Romantically, that is."

"Yeah, I got that," came the response.

Michael smiled and continued, "I ask for just one small favour. Don't assign Dean or Castiel to anyone else."

"Let me get this straight." Bobby sighed. "You want me to break the rules just 'cause two of our agents are crushing on each other?"

"Surely it isn't a crime for a brother to want happiness for his youngest?" Michael asked, a hint of cheek in his tone, as if daring the Director to counter him.

Bobby pretended to mull it over for the sake of protocol. It was against the rules, two agents romantically involved and out on the field together. But Bobby had a soft spot for Dean. He wasn't just an agent, he was a son. So of course he was going to let this one slide. He knew it, and Michael knew it too.

"Well," Bobby sighed for effect. "I'd be an idjit to say no to an Archangel. And I'm no idjit."

Michael smirked. "Then I have nothing more to say. Until next time, Director Singer."

With a flutter of wings, Michael was gone and Bobby was left to his thoughts. He mused about how he'd explained this to the board, but after coming up with a big fat nothing, he decided to go with, "Because I said so, ya idjits."

* * *

The library was still, silent. A few people meandered between tables and bookshelves, searching for various titles that could help on their hunt. The air was filled with nothing more than the gentle swish of turning pages, the patter of shoes and the occasional cough.

Away in the back in the small fiction section, right beneath the window, was a simple wooden table, sheltered behind a few shelves. If anyone ever saw this table or in fact, even knew of it's existence, they could easily tell you it was always occupied by the same young man.

Sam sat opposite the window, which he kept open at all times during the summer, enjoying the cool breeze. Unfortunately, it was still the middle of winter- and snowing at the moment, mind you- so he was forced to leave it latched shut. But it didn't matter, because during the colder days the nearby heater kept his feet warm and toasty as they rested on the chair across.

Sam relished the peace and quiet the Bureau's library offered. There was nothing he liked better than just unwinding with a good book. The Bureau didn't have a large selection of fiction, but it sufficed Sam's needs with enough classics and personal favourites. As the Winchester flipped the page eagerly (the plot was just getting good; Bilbo had taken the Ring from Gollum's cave), he was rudely interrupted by a chipper voice much too loud for a library.

"Sammykins, what in Dad's name are you doing?" Gabriel demanded.

"Reading," Sam deadpanned. "Gabe, what do you want? I'm really trying to focus here."

"OK, look me in the eye and tell me you'd rather read than have fun with me."

Sam looked away from his book for the first time and scowled at the Archangel. "Gabriel, I'd rather read than have fun with you."

Gabe feigned hurt, gasping and placing a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Sam."

When the man offered no reply but a quiet snort, Gabriel persisted.

"Sammy, I'm not gonna have you waste your time in this awful place," he concluded, glaring around the library as if it personally offended him. "We're going on a trip."

"Where?" Sam asked tentatively.

"Vegas."

"Vegas?"

"Vegas."

"We're not going to Vegas."

Sam almost swore Gabriel had stomped his foot. "Why?" He pouted. "Come on, it'll be fun!"

"I hate to think what your idea of fun is," Sam teased.

"Fine." Gabriel crossed his arms. "Where do you want to go?"

Sam looked up from his book. "What?"

"Look, Moosechester. I'm giving you the opportunity to choose our romantic getaway location," the Archangel told him. "So where's it gonna be?"

Sam set his book down and looked at Gabriel squarely in the eyes. "Hawaii."

"Hawaii?"

"Hawaii."

Gabriel seemingly thought about the suggestion. "All right, sure. What's not to like about Hawaii? Beaches, booze and babes."

Sam still looked rather unsure, as if contemplating whether or not the world would survive without him if he left on an actual vacation.

"You can take your book with you and read on the beach," Gabriel suggested slyly. "Nothing better than reading by the sea, right?"

A grin graced Sam's face. "OK. You're on."

* * *

_Now I lay myself to sleep, I pray to the Angel Castiel to get down here pronto. It's an emergency._

Dean had no sooner unfolded his fingers than a whoosh of wings sounded. Trenchcoat ruffled and tie askew, Castiel stared wide-eyed at where Dean lounged comfortably on his bed.

"This is not an emergency," the Angel concluded, his face returning to it's usual impassive state.

"Yes it is," Dean insisted. "There's something on my arm," he blatantly lied, holding out the underside of his forearm.

Castiel squinted at the Winchester's outstretched limb. "There's nothing there, Dean."

"Yes, there is. Get your ass over here. I could be dying," the other demanded.

Cas stepped closer to Dean's bed, eyes trained on the man's arm. He came to a stop right in front of the bed. "Dean, there is nothing wrong with-"

Whether it was because he was unprepared or he simply didn't care, Dean didn't really know, but Castiel tumbled onto the Winchester when the latter grabbed Cas by the lapels, tugging him down onto the bed. Dean flipped them over and swung a leg on top of the Angel's hips, settling on his stomach in attempt to stop him from leaving. He leaned in close, his breath brushing Cas' lips.

"Gotcha," he teased.

Castiel scowled. "Dean, this isn't funny."

Dean hummed in agreement as he pressed his mouth over the Angel's, hoping to kiss the frown off his face. It seemed to work relatively well, because Cas heaved a small sigh and reciprocated with equal enthusiasm.

That was when Dean decided the shirt had to come off. He worked his way around Castiel's tie, skillfully undoing the knot and pulling it off from around his neck. Nipping at Cas' newly exposed throat, Dean busied himself with the buttons as he felt the Angel push up his shirt, softly grazing his hands over the small of Dean's back. The Winchester barely stifled a moan against Cas' lips and actually felt him smirk smugly.

The sound of his phone shocked Dean back into reality. He groaned irritatedly into Castiel's mouth, but made no indication of pulling away or answering the phone.

"Won't you pick up?" Cas asked, words muffled against Dean's lips.

"No." Dean's reply was short.

"It could be important," Castiel continued.

Dean groaned again and stuck out a hand, blindly searching for his phone on the bedside table. "What?!" he barked into the mouthpiece.

"Hey, it's me." Sam's somewhat defensive voice sounded. "You OK?"

"Peachy. What's up?" Dean tried to get to the point quickly. He had a half-dressed Angel of the Lord beneath him, which to him was more of a priority at the moment than his little brother was.

"Everything's fine. Just wanted to let you know I'm with Gabriel," Sam responded. "In Honolulu."

"Honolu-?" Dean glared at his phone. "You're on _Hawaii?!_ "

Castiel's chuckles vibrated against the Winchester's stomach pleasantly as Sam went on.

"Don't worry, Dean. I'll be fine," he assured him, and he stressed again, "I'm with Gabe."

"Yeah. That's what worries me," Dean retorted.

An indignant, "Hey!" was heard from the other line and Sam laughed.

"Where's Cas? He with you?" the younger Winchester wanted to know.

OK, so Dean had told Sam. Of course he'd told him. It was an initial shock for Sam ("Dean, you can't be romantically involved with your partner! It's against the rules!", "Bobby's gonna murder you!" and, "How on earth did you get Cas to sleep with you?"), but he accepted it. He understood what the Angel meant to Dean, and vice versa. It was one of the many reasons Dean was grateful to have been given a nerdy little brother. Even if he was being a massive cockblock at the moment.

"Yup, he's here with me," Dean replied. "He'd say hi, but he's a little tied up right now, if you know what I mean."

"Jesus, Dean. TMI." Sam groaned.

"I also have him gagged," the other continued as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

He received a simultaneous, "Dean!" from both his brother and Castiel.

"I'm kidding, Sammy. I don't think there's anything that I can successfully tie an Angel up with," Dean said. "Is there?" he added to Cas as an afterthought.

"I am certainly not telling you that," came Castiel's deadpan reply.

Dean chuckled as Sam went on.

"How about you? You gonna be OK while I'm gone?" his little brother asked, his voice warm.

Dean glanced down at Castiel, a devious smile playing on his lips. "Yeah. I'm gonna be fine."

And he promptly hung up.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to start off by saying that the idea isn't mine. I got it from a video circling around Tumblr ages ago, also by the same name as my story. The idea of Dean and Cas being FBI partners comes from the video, but the plot of the story is my own work.
> 
> I've recently opened my AO3 account, and am in the process of uploading my stuff from FFNet, so don't be confused when a story updates several times in one day!


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